It's Only Rock'N'Roll
by N2
Summary: Dealing with a budding relationship is hard enough, but when duty calls and the past comes knocking things get so much worse. (IcemanChamber. Sequel to 'It Could Be Sunshine')
1. Chapter One B

**Author's Notes**: This is the sequel to _It Could Be Sunshine_. That means that this story takes place after the _Designer Genes_ stories in the comics. Each chapter will be written from Bobby and Jono's POVs and marked with a B or J respectively in the chapter title in the drop-down bar. (And yes, the perversion of that is intentional.) 

**Chapter One   
I Love You (Prelude to Tragedy)**

"The sweeter the kiss   
The colder turn your arms"   
-H.I.M. 

Did you know there's a band called 'The Revolting Cocks'? No? Neither did I. But then, I've been learning all sorts of new and interesting things as of late. Not all of it as funny as 'Revolting Cocks' though. 

I think the thing I've learnt recently that's the _least_ amusing is that in a house full of telepaths, nothing stays a secret for very long. Okay, maybe it's unfair to blame it all on Emma or Jean having big mouths… the fact that I'm pretty lousy at keeping things quiet probably contributes to the problem. Like, a teeny tiny bit. 0.02% maybe. 

Now, I've been playing the part of Class Clown for time out of mind, so I know by now that if you dish it out you'd better be prepared to take it. So while I was mortified as hell to realize that everyone in the mansion knows that Chamber and I have become, er, 'more than friends', I expected the subsequent teasing. 

Which leads to the other less-than-amusing thing I've learned lately: Jonothon Starsmore does _not_ like to be teased. 

*DRAKE!* 

It was a Wednesday evening, and I was sitting at the kitchen table eating a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich (secret to eternal life, I swear) and thinking about stealing some cookies from Scott's secret stash when the front door banged open and Jono's telepathic shout cut through my brain like a bullet. 

"Uh-oh," I muttered, and endeavored to look innocent. 

He straight-armed the kitchen door, sending it banging against the wall, marched across the room and planted his palms on the table so he was hunched over, glaring at me. His glare was so searing that I actually started to lower my body temperature. 

"Hi," I said. "Something bothering you, Jon?" I tried to call him that whenever we were in a 'public area' in a half-hearted attempt to give the impression we weren't sleeping together. 

*Oi'm goin' ter kill yer,* he told me. Prior to that, I never would have guessed you could telepathically convey such a thick, angry accent. 

"Uhm. Okay. Can I finish my sandwich first?" I smiled cheerily. Then the little bastard actually punched me in the face. 

"OW! Sonuva-Jono, what the _hell_?!" 

*Bloody cheek,* he replied, but some of the anger had gone out of his voice. I was starting to get pissed myself, but then he took a few steps so he was at my side and roughly took my hands away from my injured jaw and examined the damage, his guitar-calloused fingers first running across my jawline before moving up to brush my cheekbones lightly. It was, dare I say it, almost a caress. 

"That hurt," I told him, hating myself a little for smiling on the inside. 

*Good.* He heaved a long sigh (which feels really and truly bizarre, might I add) and collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs, glowering at me moodily. *I was just outside with Worthington and Stacy. She wants ter know which one of us'll be wearin' the apron if we move in together.* 

Made a mental note to freeze Stacy's thong underwear to her buttcrack. 

Jonothon's scowl actually managed to deepen. I think his eyebrows had gained sentience and were trying to knit themselves together for obscure reasons. *Warren called you my _boyfriend._* 

Should freeze Warren's thong, too. "Well," I said after a minute. "Aren't I?" 

Jonothon blinked at me, and his eyebrows stopped mating in order to twist themselves into an expression of dismay. *Aw, fuck,* he said. 

I wasn't sure whether to be amused or hurt by this remark, so I wound up feeling both. "So why'd you punch me?" I grumbled. 

*I thought we agreed to keep whatever is between us quiet,* he said. *Yer know, t'avoid exactly this sort of scenario.* 

"Hey, _I_ didn't say a word!" I protested. "And honestly, did you really think we could keep it a secret forever?" 

Jonothon looked glum. *I was sorta 'oping we could.* 

On the one hand, I knew exactly how he felt. On the other, however, I could feel a sort of childish injury. "Oh come on," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "I'm not _that_ embarrassing." 

He looked up at me, cocking one sardonic eyebrow. *Yes you are.* 

I got up and took my dishes to the sink so I wasn't looking at him. I was suddenly angry, and although I knew I was being ridiculous I couldn't calm down. I just kept thinking about how everyone in my life always seems to feel that way at some point - that Bobby, what a character, but he's a bit of an embarrassment. Just humour him and he'll stop. 

There was a scraping noise as Jonothon got out of his chair, and the deliberate ka-clunk of his boots across the linoleum. Those damn boots… I have no idea how he can get them on and off so quickly, what with all the buckles. 

I put my hands on the counter and waited. He was behind me, probably standing about half a foot away, presumably watching the back of my head. I waited a little longer, expecting him to step closer, or reach out and touch me, or… I dunno, do _some_thing. 

Noooope. 

Finally I turned around, my traitor mouth pulling itself into an irritated little smirk. What can I say? I'm impatient. He was just standing there lazily, almost smiling. "God, you're such a shit sometimes," I told him. 

*Mm.* 

I shrugged, laughing a little. Mostly at myself. "Jeez. Remind me to thank Warren. No, better yet, remind me to molest you on the kitchen table at the precise moment he comes in for breakfast tomorrow." 

He lowered his head a little and found something interesting to look at off to the side, his eyelids drooping slyly. *Mm,* he repeated. *Sounds alright.* His eyes flickered up to meet mine for a second and the wet gleam in them made all the spit in my mouth dry up. 

I made some sort of noise - kind of a breathless "fwuh?" Jonothon either didn't notice or (more likely) ignored it. He rolled his shoulders distractedly and flicked his belt-buckle with one thumb. 

*I,* he said, *am goin' ter take a shower.* 

_Sounds like a splendid idea, Jonothon. Would you like some company? I could wash your back,_ I tried to say. Managed a strangled croak instead. Jonothon turned away and headed for the kitchen door, probably laughing at me inside the whole time. 

Little bastard. I wanted to ruin his little game by turning back to the sink and washing my dishes, I really did, but… 

Dammit. Why does he have to wear such tight jeans? 

Feeling like that hyper little dog in the Warner Brother's cartoons, I crossed the room quickly and followed him out of the kitchen. He looked amused when I caught up and fell in step beside him, but surprised as well. We ascended the stairs in silence, both of us kind of keeping an eye out for anyone passing by. At the top he paused and glanced down the hallway in the direction of the bedrooms. 

*Yours, or...?* 

I grinned. "Hey limey, I thought you wanted a shower?" 

He balked. *Yeah, but yer know, I didn't really expect yer t'follow.* 

I grabbed his hand and tugged. "Come on. It's deserted around here today. Nobody'll notice us. Promise. And if somebody DOES hear us, we'll tell everyone it was Warren. Just Warren. With maybe a blow-up doll." 

I dragged him to the bathroom and closed the door behind us. I was halfway through unbuttoning my shirt when I realized Jonothon was just sort of standing there uncomfortably. "What is it?" I asked slowly. 

He shrugged tensely and I frowned. Jonothon tends to be slightly uncommunicative (to put it mildly) so I expected getting him to fess up to what exactly was bothering him would be like pulling teeth. 

"Jono, I swear, nobody is going to hear us." 

*S'not that.* He gestured briefly at the row of light bulbs over the bathroom mirror. I don't know what wattage those babies have, but they're bright enough to double as airport landing lights. Underneath them Jonothon didn't look merely pale - he looked downright _cadaverous_. 

"Oh, big deal," I said lightly, starting to grasp what he was thinking. "Everyone looks like shit under these things." Which was true. You'd think in a mansion with technology as advanced as ours we could shell out the dough to get some flattering lighting going on in the can. 

Jonothon raised the Chilly Eyebrow of Death at me. Poor choice of words, perhaps. 

"You know what I mean," I insisted. I stepped closer to him and put my hands on his upper arms. He bore this silently, not looking at me. 

"Jonothon," I said quietly. "It's not like I haven't seen you naked before." 

*Yeah, in the dark,* he replied in a voice that tried to be waspish but instead sounded only wounded. 

"Not total dark," I said, but I was suddenly aware that he was right. He never let me put the lights on. 

"Huh. Well, okay. Fine." I went over to the sink and reached up, dropping the temperature of my fingers so that when I grabbed one of the light bulbs I didn't burn myself. 

*Bobby, wot--?* 

I unscrewed about half the bulbs and placed them carefully on the countertop. The room was lit so you could still see everything, but it was a lot less like a hospital operating theatre now. 

"Better?" 

*Yer coulda just turned em off,* he said reluctantly and I shook my head. 

"Maybe," I said, stepping close to him again, "I don't want it to be totally dark in here. Maybe I want to get a better look at you." I wrapped my arms around him, mostly because I was afraid he'd bolt for the door if I didn't. "Okay?" 

Awful seconds where he didn't reply, just stood there stiffly in my embrace. I didn't move, just stood there with him and inhaled his smell. Jonothon always has this slightly sulfurous odour that seems to lurk just beneath the scent of flesh and warm leather. It's not what you'd call a turn-on, I guess, but somehow I don't find it unpleasant at all. Quite the opposite, really. Reminds me vaguely of blown-out birthday candles. 

Finally he relaxed a little. *Don't stare,* he admonished me. One of his hands found its way up to the nape of my neck, calloused fingertips stroking the skin there and making me shiver a little. 

"Wouldn't dream of it," I muttered into his hair. Yes, score one victory for Bobby Drake! My hormones were already celebrating by pitching a tent in my pants. 

*Uh-huh.* He put his hands on either side of my neck, tracing them deftly over my shoulders and back before sliding them lower to cup my ass, pulling me closer. The slightly possessive feel of his hands on my body like that made me feel stupidly pleased - yeah, stick your hands in my pockets baby and we'll stroll down the boardwalk so everyone knows. I slipped my own hands into the pockets of his jeans, and to keep myself from smiling I buried my mouth at the hollow below his earlobe where the jawbone ends, aiming for skin but managing to get a lot of bandage and hair at the same time. 

I sputtered. "Crap." 

*Casanova you're not,* Jono said, his hands regrettably leaving my rear-end in order to quickly undo the rest of my shirt. I couldn't think of a very witty response to that one due to being fixated on the feel of his fingers on my chest, so I just sort of grunted and tried to disentangle myself from my shirt. Tried. Gave up and put my hands back on his butt. 

Jonothon reached behind him and pulled my hands off, stepping away from me a little at the same time. He looked down at my arm and saw my shirt hanging from the elbow. I looked at it too, shrugged, pulled it off and tossed it in a corner. "Better?" I asked. 

*Jesus,* he muttered, but it felt like he was smiling. 

I reached for him again and he took another step backwards. *Boots,* he said. I stared at him for a second. 

"Pardon?" 

He pointed at his feet and I realized those infernal pointy, painful-looking things were still strapped to his feet by god knew how many buckles. I groaned aloud. 

"Oh sweet Jesus, I'll fall asleep before you get those off... Maybe you should just throw me some tissue." 

He smirked a little and sat down on the toilet, pulling one leg up to get at his foot. 

*Take the rest of yer clothes off and start the bleedin' shower,* he said. Hm. Get naked. There's a command I was pretty happy to follow. I stripped down in record time, balancing unsteadily and stork-like for a second as I removed my socks, then turned the shower on. Water hissed and pattered, and I adjusted the temperature to somewhere just below frigid before it occurred to me that maybe Jono didn't enjoy the freezing-cold as much as I do. 

"Hey," I said, turning around. There'd been two thuds as his boots were dropped to the floor, and upon turning around I found he was removing the sweater he'd had on. He pulled it over his head, making his normally unruly hair even messier, and gave me a mildly exasperated look. 

*Wot?* 

"Do you mind if the water's a little on the chilly side?" 

Jonothon shook his head. *Don't matter t'me,* he said. *Lack of sensation, remember?* There was bruised animosity lurking just below his casual, indifferent tone. I'm sure he didn't mean to project it, but I've found then when somebody is using a direct line to communicate with your brain it's awfully difficult not to colour the words with emotions. 

I nodded, feeling like a jackass because I _did_ know that Jonothon's sense of touch is somewhat muted. Hank told me once that it has something to do with his sensory receptors not working properly because his tissues aren't kept alive with oxygenated blood anymore. I try not to think about it a whole lot, mostly because it makes me think of zombie movies, and that's just… not right. 

I hopped in the shower and peeked out from behind the curtains to watch Jonothon undress. He caught me and made an impatient shooing gesture, which made me laugh and duck back behind the curtain before he could decide to throw something at me. 

Jonothon climbed in the shower a moment later, pale and thin and still wrapped in bandages. I knew better than to try and get a good look at him (he's as body conscious as a 13-year-old-girl with an eating disorder) so I fixed my eyes on his and smiled. My heart was doing odd gymnastics in my chest and having him so close to me, water sliding in glimmering rivulets over his skin, was damn near intoxicating. 

"Hi," I said stupidly. He snorted, and reached out with one hand to lazily trace his index finger from the hollow between my collarbones to just below my navel. 

I'd like to say that this is the part where I got all suave and sexy, and reduced him to a pile of quivering jelly capable only of gasping my name. Instead I reached forward with all the grace of a 500lb rhino and pulled him to me, making his feet squeak noisily on the wet porcelain. My hands moved up his arms, over his shoulders and down his back while my lips sought his neck and mouthed leather bandages. I could feel his touch on the back of my neck again, teasing, before his fingers moved up and tangled themselves in my hair. I tried to pull him even closer, grinding against him, and the fingers in my hair tightened, pulling at my scalp. Kind of hurt, but not really in a bad way. 

Dulled sense of touch or no, having me rub against him like that was having an effect; I could feel Jononthon's stiffening cock moving against me. It was maddening. I pawed at him with no finesse at all, but rather a brute violence that the situation seemed to demand, my mouth unconsciously seeking his. 

And of course, it wasn't there. 

I'm not sure exactly how long it took for me to realize I was kissing leather. Finally the fact registered and I opened my eyes and pulled back. I caught the look of anguish in his eyes before he looked away. 

"Jono," I said. My intended apology seemed weak and insulting, so I stopped there. Leaned down and buried my head in his chest for a moment, listening to the nothingness there. Jono twitched and his hands tried to settle on my shoulders. Figured he'd push me away if he could, so I sank slowly to my knees, dragging my mouth across the flat planes of his stomach, tongue dipping into his navel briefly. 

Got some sort of silent, mental protest from Jono at the same time his hips tilted forward, leaving me to conclude that while I might have offended him, his body still wanted me to go ahead. 

Wrapped my fingers around his cock and moved up and down, hard and fast because I've discovered that he can feel _that_, at least. With my other hand I fondled his balls, stroking the skin with my thumb before squeezing them. This elicited a dizzying mental groan. Figuring I could do better than that, I felt for the delicate skin behind and gave a quick, rough fingernail scratch and was rewarded with a bolt of deep crimson lust straight through the brain. 

Lowered my head and laved the head of his cock with my tongue, wishing I had a cat's tongue because somehow I know he'd love that. Took his dick in my mouth and started sucking, letting my teeth carefully skate across skin once or twice, trying not to smile at the sudden gasps in my brain when I did so. 

Water on porcelain, drumming out a rhythm he seemed to be trying to match. Jonothon's hips pumping, while he let a series of non-words filter into my mind. I could _feel_ the emotions elicited by my own actions - a lust not my own was gliding through my mind, burning me from the inside. Low telepathic groans wound through my consciousness, all shaded with the colour of ecstasy. Lost myself, wrapped in sensations I couldn't even begin to categorise, and realized I could hear him babbling as he neared the edge. 

*Bobbyharderyeroh_fuck_yeah...* 

Suddenly there was this strange, clamping sensation as the majority of his telepathic contact was cut off and all I heard was an abbreviated mental *ah* as his semen filled my mouth. 

My brain caught up with my body not long after that and I stood, self-consciously wiping at my mouth with the back of my hand. My groin was throbbing painfully and my tongue felt swollen. Jonothon stumbled forward a step and put his arms around my neck, drawing close and trembling minutely. I hugged him back, meaning only to give some sort of affection, and was mildly revolted with myself when I noticed that I was softly rubbing my cock against him. 

Apparently I have all the self-control of a Chihuahua in heat. 

If there's one thing weirder than telepathic sighing, it's telepathic laughter. Jonothon laughed, and it was like having something rusty roll around inside my head, making me smile as the emotions attached to it brushed my thoughts like cat's whiskers. Still laughing, Jono snaked a hand down between us and gripped me with elegant fingers. 

*Mmm,* he said, and the sound actually slithered around my brain, triggering all _sorts_ of lustful feelings all over again. He stroked me languidly for a moment and then paused, fingers moving instead to my balls where they fluttered gently. Just when I thought _that_ was going to drive me crazy, he slipped his hand back to my cock, running his thumb over the head before wrapping his fingers around the shaft again and squeezing slightly. Smirking, he started pulling away from me. "Oh come _on_," I moaned, and tried to thrust into his hand, utterly shameless in my desire. He let go of me completely and shook his head. 

*Turn around.* 

Psionic voices shouldn't be that... husky. Felt a few more synapses in my brain fry due to hormone overload, and did as I was told without a murmur. Cold water hit my face, forcing me to close my eyes and sputter a little. I was standing about a foot away from the wall, and as Jonothon pressed against me I leaned forward slightly and rested my forearms against the slick, cool tiles. I dropped my head to prevent water from running into my eyes and consequently got to watch as Jono's long, pale hand slid over my stomach and down to my dick. His fingers wrapped themselves around the base, his thumb and index finger pressed against my body. He slid his hand up slowly, his palm sliding over the head of my cock, before he reversed his grip and slid back down. I could only stare, entranced, at first the back of his hand and then his long, slender fingers, moving up and down the length of me. 

Jonothon was doing something behind me, and when I felt a slippery finger slide between my ass cheeks and probe carefully at my entrance I realized he'd been reaching for the soap dish. Let out a shaky breath I hadn't been aware I was holding as he slid it inside me. 

*How's that?* Wicked little psi-whisper in my head. That serpent hasn't got anything on Jono when it comes to "you know you want it." 

I managed an inarticulate grunt in response and Jonothon sped up the motion of his hand on my cock even as he started moving his finger inside me. He pressed his body as close to me as he could, his cheek resting on my shoulder, radiating unnatural warmth that both excited and comforted me. I could feel him, not just physically now, but as a sort of ghost presence behind my consciousness that whispered and fed textured feeling directly into my mind. 

*That's good, innit? Yeah?* 

"Yeah," I croaked, breathing hard as his pace increased. I was shoving at the wall, my arms quivering with tension. Felt what can only be described as a dirty psionic grin when I let out a low moan. 

*Mmm. Bobby...* 

Nothing in the world existed except for Jono's touch, Jono's _mind_, the rush of blood in my ears, and the delicious, building pressure. I was gasping his name, my muscles rigid and straining with every stroke. 

Suddenly I shuddered, trying not to shout as I came violently. Could only stay propped against the wall for a moment, slowly becoming aware of cold water cascading over my body and the ache in my hands. Jonothon was still pressed tight against me, one hand still loosely wrapped around my cock. I straightened, flexing my fingers, and let out a shaky breath as he let go and moved away. 

"Whoo." 

*Uh-huh.* 

I turned around and found Jonothon lathering up his hands with soap. "You're not really Mr. Talkative, have I ever told you that?" 

*Yeah.* 

"Just checking. Pass the shampoo?" 

Jonothon did as requested, and a faint herbal odour pervaded the air as I quickly lathered up my hair and rinsed. I then stole the soap from Jonothon, who was regarding me with an almost apologetic expression. 

*Drake,* he said after I'd given myself a quick scrub with the soap. *If yer don't mind, I really would like to actually _shower_ now.* 

"Jono, I don't know how to tell you this, but you're _in_ the shower." 

Earned a familiar scowl. *I mean alone.* 

"Why? Jesus, Jono, I had your cock in my mouth not fifteen minutes ago. Your fragile English sensibilities could handle that just fine." 

He looked pretty pissed at that. *Bloody twit,* he psi-muttered and then flicked angrily at his bandages. *I do have skin under 'ere y'know. And my 'fragile English sensibilities' demand I clean it.* 

Oh. Well. So I'm not the most perceptive guy alive, okay? 

"Okay," I replied, keeping my voice light. "I'll get your back." 

He stared at me, frankly disbelieving. "I'm serious!" I said. I lowered my voice a little, "I'd like to. Really. I'll get behind you so I couldn't stare even if I wanted to, okay?" 

Jonothon sighed, but I sensed it was merely for melodrama's sake since there seemed to be an undercurrent of cautious pleasure there. *You try anything comedic…* He let the sentence trail off ominously. 

"Hey, scout's honour," I said as I snuck around him so I was looking at his back. 

More psi-muttering. Think I heard something along the lines of 'bloody twit' again. But he was reaching up and deftly undoing the bandages with an ease that spoke of long practice. Me, I would still be there to this day trying to figure out what was tucked where. 

There was a flash of light, and suddenly steam was everywhere. I started, half expecting some sort of super-villain to materialize and fulfill my nightmare of dying buck-ass naked. Jonothon chuckled softly. 

*Cold water,* he explained. Oh. Right. To think that all our sweaty mansex hadn't so much as fogged up the mirror, but a purely platonic shower would. Mutant physiology is wacky, I tell you. 

Jonothon reached outside the shower for a moment to allow his wrappings to fall to the floor, his movements deliberately casual. I may not be a genius like some people, but I knew he was shamming - he really, really didn't want me to see him completely stripped. 

Best not to push it. I hummed softly, lathering up my hands with soap before reaching out and soaping up his back. He stiffened abruptly and I was momentarily worried he might freak out and explode the shower. 

Instead he relaxed. Me, I just kept humming and washing, enjoying the feeling of his skin under my hands. I'd never seen his back before, not bare anyway, and for some reason it fascinated me. Smooth and white and utterly unmarked. 

Passed him the soap, deciding not even to offer to get his front side, and grabbed the shampoo. Actually managed to surprise a short laugh out him when I gorped it directly onto his head and started scrubbing madly. 

"Dah-link, you look MAHvehlous!" I crowed when he shot a glare over his shoulder at me. The effect was ruined by the fact that soap was threatening to drip into his left eye. Laughing, I shoved his head under the shower spray and after delivering a quick pat to his rear-end, clambered out of the shower. 

Nearly tripped on those fucking boots in my attempt to grab us some towels. Cursed merrily and heard the shower turn off, so I turned around and saw a glowing ghost of a form hidden behind the shower curtain. Jono's hand reached out. 

*Towel,*he demanded. I tossed one and politely turned my back so he could get out without me gawking at him. I'm weak - I kept stealing glimpses of him in the bathroom mirror as he wrapped himself up like a mummy again. Sometimes I think it's a shame… I know he hates it, but that psi-fire of his is kind of pretty. 

"Decent?" I asked when I knew he was done. 

*Uh-huh.* 

He was sitting on the toilet again, in a towel and bandages, his dark auburn hair now a _dripping_ tangled mess. I think combs get lost in his hair, I really do. He looked up at me curiously and I realised with a bafflingly fierce joy that there _was_ something more here than raw animal sex. 

*Wot?* 

I smiled. "Nothing." Wasn't about to tell him I thought he was adorable just then. "So, was that-" 

Sudden hammering on the bathroom door. I jumped a mile and Jono leapt to his feet. 

"Bobby, did you die in there?" 

Warren's voice. He probably had a meeting or something to go to, and here we were hogging the bathroom with our immoral sex acts. I stifled a laugh and before Jonothon could dive behind the shower curtain again I unlocked the bathroom door and flung it open. 

"Warren!" I cried jovially before the door had even completed its swing. "If you wanted to join us THAT badly you could have just..." 

I stared. Standing next to Warren were two familiar women: Jubilee, who was smirking widely, and... 

"...asked." 

Paige Guthrie. 

Crap. 


	2. Chapter One J

**Author's Notes**: This is the sequel to _It Could Be Sunshine_. That means that this story takes place after the _Designer Genes_ stories in the comics. Each chapter will be written from Bobby and Jono's POVs and marked with a B or J respectively in the chapter title in the drop-down bar. (And yes, the perversion of that is intentional.) 

Chapter One   
I Love You (Prelude to Tragedy) 

"The colder your touch, the more it turns me on."   
-H.I.M. 

A mate of mine once announced after a few rounds at the pub that I 'ave got "th'most fucked-up taste in wimmen." I suppose 'e was right - but that's apparently _nothing_ compared to me dreadful taste in men. 

Case in point - one Robert Drake. 

Months back I could 'ave told yer that the only reason in the world I let the goofiest X-Man in the history of Xavier's anywhere near me in a non-platonic way was because I _needed_ to. Being wot I am, s'not like I'm fuckin' anyone on a regular basis, yer know? Truth be told, I try 'ard t'keep everyone at an arm's length when I can because I know once they get close they won't be able to handle it. But every so often, the need to be close to someone, anyone, outweighs me good sense. 

Which is 'ow I wound up in this bloody mess to start with. Next thing I know he's got all these ideas about 'feelings' floatin' around in his 'ead, and he starts showin' an interest in me as more than just an 'andy (albeit disturbing) fuck on a Sunday afternoon. 

And that scared the hell out of me. 

It's not because I've got reservations about dating a guy, it's because every time I finally decide to open up a little, things wind up worse off than they were before. 

And besides that fact, I could not have thought of a relationship more destined to failure. I mean, Jesus H. Christ, LOOKIT 'im! The man wears Hawaiian shirts with leather pants. Enough said. 

And yet... 

There's different sides to Bobby, ones 'e doesn't think he lets anyone see. He can be childish, insensitive, exasperatin', obnoxious and downright annoyin', but he can also be loyal, noble and intelligent when 'e feels like it. 

Really, he's like a dog. There's always that one person in your circle of friends who's got a dog, and when yer 'ave t'pick them up at their flat or wotever you 'ave to put up with this smelly, attention-whoring mongrel that'll chew your boots to shreds as soon as he's done humpin' your leg. You hate the bloody thing but y'put up wi' it. Then, after a few visits maybe it stops chewing your footwear and does a few stupid tricks that make yer laugh. Soon enough you don't mind the mutt and wind up scratchin' his ears while you wait for yer friend and even tossing a ball for it to chase if they take too fucken long. Eventually they 'ave to go out of town and you disgust yerself by volunteering t'watch the little bastard. 

Yeah. Bobby's like that. 

So wot I'm gettin' at 'ere izzat the blighter _grows_ on you. He'll come sneakin' inter me room at one in the morning with a pack of Twinkies and plop 'imself on the floor and eat 'em and talk. Just talk. Normally this sorta behaviour would be greeted by a sound boot t'the 'ead by yours truly, but fer some reason it doesn't bother me at all. Kinda nice, really. I can just sit back an' relax while 'e babbles, not usually expectin' much of an answer t'anything 'e says. Sometimes he'll lay down next t'me after consuming those disgusting snacks of 'is and just sort of touch me, in a non-sexual kinda way. 

I've never 'ad anyone do that, before. 

But he's still a twit. 

One Wednesday evenin' I was walking across the grounds, just sorta watching the sky darken towards night. I was heading towards the main entrance when I spotted Worthington an' Stacy just outside. 

"Chamber," Worthington said, and I strolled over, figuring he was maybe tryin' t'use me as a distraction from Miss X's amorous advances. "Are you going inside?" 

*Yeah. Why?* 

"I was just wondering if you could do me a favour." I nodded and he went on, "When you see your boyfriend, could you remind him that we have a meeting early tomorrow morning? Thanks." 

My _wot_? 

*My wot?* I asked, shock alone keeping me 'voice' neutral. 

Worthington looked at me with this expression that tried t'be blank but wound up betraying a sort of mild amusement. "Bobby," he said, as if explainin' something to a child. "You two are a couple, aren't you?" 

I could only stare at 'im. Then Stacy had t'add _her_ two cents... 

"Hey Starsmore," she said with a grin, "If you two shack up together, which one you gets to wear the apron and do all the housework?" 

Only the fact that she's a woman saved 'er from a broken jaw at that. 

*Roit, Excuse me.* 

Figurin' it wouldn't be the best idea in the world to blast the living daylights outta me teammates, I instead headed inside the mansion. 

*DRAKE!* I shouted as I came through the front door. No answer, but that was no problem. 'Aving spent so much time with Bobby 'as made it very easy fer me t'track him telepathically and I knew within seconds 'e was in the kitchen. Loud-mouthed, bloody twit... 

I barged inter the room, focused solely on pulverizing the bastard. Luckily 'e was the only on in there, sittin' at the table with a sandwich and a falsely innocent expression. I put my palms on the table and glared at 'im. 

"Hi," he said. "Something bothering you, Jon?" 

This half-arsed attempt at formality made me want ter throw him through th'window. *Oi'm goin' ter kill yer,* I snarled. 

"Uhm. Okay. Can I finish my sandwich first?" he asked, smiling up at me. 

_Roit, that's it,_ I thought, and decked him one. Felt immediately better for it. 

"OW! Sonuva-Jono, what the _hell_?!" 

*Bloody cheek,* I replied. Drake can be such a baby sometimes - he was massagin' 'is jaw like it actually hurt, managin' ter make me feel just the smallest bit guilty. Grabbed 'is jaw and took a look at it, just on the off-chance I'd actually damaged it. It was fine, naturally. 

"That hurt," he said. Faker. 

*Good,* I said shortly an' sighed before sittin' in one of th'chairs at the table. I looked across at 'im, still pretty cross. *I was just outside with Worthington and Stacy,* I told 'im. *She wants ter know which one of us'll be wearin' the apron if we move in together.* 

He didn't say anythin' and I growled inwardly. *Warren called you my _boyfriend._* 

Still 'e didn't say anything an' I resisted th'urge t'deck him again. I was pissed off; couldn't understand why he _wasn't_. 

I was about ready to up and leave 'im sitting there alone when he said, all slow-like and thoughtful, "Well, aren't I?" 

Bugger me. If I were a gel (do NOT ponder that too deeply, awwright?) and we were doin' wot it is we do t'gether, then I suppose you _would_ call 'im that. I mean, if we were just fucking it would be fine, right, but… yeah. S'not just fucking, really now is it? 

*Aw, fuck,* I said. 

"So why'd you punch me?" he asked, all pissy-like. 

*I thought we agreed to keep whatever is between us quiet,* I told 'im. An' we had. Nobody's bleedin' business but ours. *Yer know, t'avoid exactly this sort of scenario.* 

"Hey, _I_ didn't say a word!" 'e protested. "And honestly, did you really think we could keep it a secret forever?" 

Well, yes. Not rationally, mind, but still. 

*I was sorta 'oping we could,* I said. 

"Oh come on," he said in this jokin' sort of voice he uses when he's not _really_ kidding. "I'm not _that_ embarrassing." 

I raised an eyebrow at 'im. *Yes you are.* 

'E got up and took 'is dishes t'the sink. I could tell he was upset but I didn't really care. _I_ was pissed off, an' his wounded feelings would just 'ave to take care of themselves, thank yer very much. Swear t'god, the man's as bad as some wimmen I've dated. 

Hm. On second thought, no, no he's not. Bobby has yet t'throw crockery at me, after all. 

With a mental sigh, I got up and walked closer t'him, stopping about a foot away. He was just standin' there, starin' at the sink or the wall or somethin'. I dunno. I suspect 'e was waiting for an apology. Eventually 'e gave up and turned around, smiling this tight little smile that seems to say that he's about two seconds away from smackin' me one. 

I like that. 

"God, you're such a shit sometimes," he said. 

*Mm.* Well, it's true. 

'E laughed. 'E does that a lot - laughs, I mean. Even when the joke's at his expense. Can't understand it, meself. "Jeez. Remind me to thank Warren. No, better yet, remind me to molest you on the kitchen table at the precise moment he comes in for breakfast tomorrow." 

Now _there's_ an idea. I 'ave ter admit, the idea of fuckin' on the kitchen table is just so delightfully unsanitary it's appealing. 

*Mm,* I said, amused at me own dirty mind. Decided suddenly I was still ticked at 'im enough ter torture 'im a little. Yer know, since the whole incident outside _was_ embarassin'. *Sounds alright,* I said and employed the Secret Weapons. 

Yeah, not those, ya bloody pervert. I mean me eyes. For reasons I cannot fathom, people 'ave been fascinated by 'em ever since I can remember. Gayle used ter call em 'intense.' Wotever - all that matters izzat direct eye-contact with Drake plus sexual innuendo equals the man's brain meltin' inter something that resembles runny pudding. 

"Fwuh?" he said. 

Works every time, didn't I say? 

Rolled me shoulders with feigned distraction and flicked a thumb at the rough silver buckle of me belt. Figured anythin' ter draw 'is attention t'me crotch was a _good_ thing in this case. *I,* I said with a deliberate pause for emphasis, *am goin' ter take a shower.* On that note, I turned and 'eaded fer the door. 

I can be a right bastard sometimes. 

I honestly _did_ plan ter 'ave a shower, but Drake wound up getting 'is motor functions under control quicker than I'd anticipated. 'E caught up t'me before I'd reached the stairs so we went up t'gether. Paused with overdone caution t'make sure nobody was strolling down the hallways. 

*Yours, or...?* I asked, kind 'oping he'd say mine since I have a better selection of music we can use t'muffle any noise we might make. Yer 'aven't known pain until you've tried ter 'ave sex while listenin' t'the bloody Beach Boys. 

"Hey limey, I thought you wanted a shower?" he said with a grin. Christ, I 'ate when he calls me that. Also, I was not planning on lettin' 'im see me all naked and unwrapped-like. Thanks, but I'd like t'preserve wot little sexual attraction I DO 'ave. 

*Yeah, but yer know, I didn't really expect yer t'follow.* 

"Come on," he said, tuggin' on me hand like a little kid beggin' to ride the ferris wheel or somethin'. "It's deserted around here today. Nobody'll notice us. Promise. And if somebody DOES hear us, we'll tell everyone it was Warren. Just Warren. With maybe a blow-up doll." 

Cute. I let 'im drag me inter the bathroom and shut the door, 'oping that maybe by some miracle of god the reflection I'd find waiting in the mirror would be warped so's t'look like some _other_ bloke. 

No such luck. It was still me. Still too pale, still too skinny, an' still missin' vital parts. Still ugly. 

Bobby was halfway outta 'is shirt before 'e seemed t'clue in that _I did not want t'go through with it._

"What is it?" he asked slowly. 

I shrugged. 'Ow am I supposed ter say it out loud, eh? 

"Jono, I swear, nobody is going to hear us." 

That twit. As if I care - whole damn mansion knows about us anyway, as I'd found out not long ago. 

*S'not that,* I admitted, waving a hand at the lightbulbs. I 'ate those fucken things - they bleach every bit o'colour from yer skin. It's like seeing wot you'd look like dead. An' okay, so I'm kinda used ter that, but still. Not exactly wot yer'd call a mood-setter. 

"Oh, big deal," Drake said, all flippant about it. "Everyone looks like shit under these things." 

Oh, thanks a bloody LOT. 

"You know what I mean," he said as if readin' me mind. I looked away, keeping me eyes averted even when 'e put his 'ands on me arms. 

"Jonothon," he said quietly. "It's not like I haven't seen you naked before." 

*Yeah, in the dark.* Couldn't quite keep the hurt out of me voice, and loathed meself for it. I wasn't always this stupid, mewling sod of tangled-up emotions. 

"Not total dark," he said, but I could read in his tone that he knew that was a lie. A beat of silence. ""Huh. Well, okay. Fine." He let go of me, and I wondered if he was maybe goin' ter see sense at last and leave me alone. Instead of 'eading fer the door though, e' went over t'the sink. 

*Bobby, wot--?* I asked. 

He reached up and unscrewed about 'alf the lightbulbs and put em on the countertop, makin' the room dimmer. 

"Better?" he asked. 

Yes and no. *Yer coulda just turned em off.* 

He shook his 'ead and stepped closer t'me. "Maybe," he said, "I don't want it to be totally dark in here. Maybe I want to get a better look at you." 'E wrapped his arms around me, effectively destroying me plans t'make a run fer it. "Okay?" 

Not really. 

I just stood there fer a while, lettin' 'im hold me an' thinking over 'is last statement. _I want to get a batter look at you._ On th'one hand, I was absolutely nauseated by th'thought. On th'other, I was leery of 'is motives - wot am I, a bleedin' scientific curiosity? 

Oh, yeah. I am. 

And, behind alla this, there was a little part of me that _wanted_ Bobby t'get a clear look. Figgered if 'e could not freak out on me, then maybe I could finally start believin' 'im when he told me that t'him I'm not a monster. 

Relaxed a tad. Bobby was still there, hangin' onter me. *Don't stare,* I warned him. I brought one 'and up t'the nape of 'is neck and stroked 'im there. 

"Wouldn't dream of it," he murmured. 

*Uh-huh.* Sure. Knew 'e probably would anyway but decided it really didn't matter. Ran me 'ands over his shoulders and back before puttin' em on his arse in order t'pull him closer. Noticed with amusement as 'e stuck his hands in me back pockets that 'e was already getting' 'ard. 'E buried his mouth below my ear for a moment before giving up, spittin' hair. 

"Crap." 

*Casanova you're not,* I told 'im and took my 'ands off him in order to undo the rest of the buttons on 'is shirt. Drake grunted and shrugged t'get 'is shirt off before grabbing me arse again. Got a one-track mind, really. 

Pulled 'is 'ands off, feelin' like a ruddy prude, and moved away. Looked down and found Drake hadn't completely gotten 'is shirt off after all - it was 'anging from his bleedin' elbow. I'm startin' t'think it's impossible fer the man to do two things at once. 

'E yanked it off and tossed it in a corner. "Better?" he asked. 

*Jesus,* I said, trying not t'smile. He's such a plonker… and yet sometimes it's almost endearin'. 

'E reached fer me with 'is customary lack of poise - Me Tarzan, You Jono - and I backed up a step. Personally, I prefer NOT t'shower with me clothes hanging off me limbs. 

*Boots,* I said and laughed inwardly at the blank expression on 'is face. 

"Pardon?" 

Pointed down t'me feet and smiled t'meself when he groaned aloud. Absolutely brilliant boots, really, but they've got loadsa buckles that Robert finds a nuisance. 

"Oh sweet Jesus, I'll fall asleep before you get those off… Maybe you should just throw me some tissue," 'e said and I smirked. 

*Take the rest of yer clothes off and start the bleedin' shower,* I said, sittin' on the lavvy and prying me boots off. Drake was 'appy t'oblige and was stark bollock naked before I'd even gotten down t'me socks. 

"Hey," 'e said after startin' the water going. I was in the process of peelin' me sweater off and I wondered wot 'e could possibly want now. 

*Wot?* 

"Do you mind if the water's a little on the chilly side?" 

Bloody stupid question. Why would I care? *Don't matter t'me,* I said. *Lack of sensation, remember?* I don't feel much of anything anymore - and he _knows_ that. Easy t'ferget, I suppose, but if it's brought up it's just another reminder of something I've lost. 

Bobby climbed in the shower and I set about getting the rest of me clothes off, trying not t'be angry. It's not 'is fault, after all, and he _was_ just tryin' t'be considerate. 

Caught the cheeky bastard peerin' out from behind the shower curtain like a bleedin' pervert. I shooed 'im and he laughed and vanished behind the curtain, takin' the last of me resentment with 'im. It's 'ard t'stay pissed at someone so bloody silly. 

Climbed inter the shower after 'im and tried not to look as self-conscious as I felt. I fully expected 'im to gawp at me but 'e didn't - instead he just fixed 'is eyes on mine and smiled. 

And that right there is the real reason I can't run away from 'im. 

Of course, 'e always ruins the moment. 

"Hi," he said in a voice that seemed t'imply light mental retardation. I snorted (telepathically, o'course) and dragged me index finger from the hollow of 'is collarbones down t'just past 'is navel. 

Well, _that_ 'ad an effect. He reached forward and pulled me to him with a brutish urgency that was pretty fucken exciting. Ran 'is hands over me arms, shoulders and down my back while he attacked my neck through leather bandages. I felt for the nape of 'is neck again, teasing, before grabbin' 'andfuls of hair and tuggin' while he started grindin' against me. This encouraged him, which 'ad been my intent. Base animal lust was pourin' off of 'im like a palpable thing and that felt just fine. 

More than fine, really. Fucken hot, that is. 

Was getting' 'ard meself and couldn't keep from rubbin' up against 'im. Bobby was goin' mad, pawin' at me like 'e couldn't wait t'fuck me arse off, and I could feel a growin' urge t'let 'im do just that. 

Then 'e kissed me, right where me mouth used ter be. 

It felt like... nothing. Not surprising, because nothing's _there_ anymore. And there 'e was, kissing me like 'e could taste lips and saliva and tongue instead of leather. Kissing me like I could feel it. Like it meant something. 

Dear god, I woulda given _anything_ to be able t'kiss 'im back. 

'E finally noticed wot 'e was doing and pulled away. Me, I couldn't stand ter look at 'im. 

"Jono," he said. 

I am so sick of pity. 

Bobby leaned down, putting his 'ead on me chest like he was listening fer a heartbeat. Sickened and miserable, I went to push him away when 'e sank to 'is knees and dragged 'is tongue across my stomach. It dipped inter my navel and I couldn't stop my hips from tiltin' forward, beggin' him to continue with my body even as me mind tried to tell 'im ter stop. 

'E wrapped 'is fingers around me and started jerkin' me off, hard and fast, an' believe me, I could feel _that__. He stroked at m'balls with one thumb before squeezing them, making me groan. It was getting 'arder to concentrate on filtering wot I was projecting inter Bobby's mind, an when he scratched 'is fingernail roughly over the skin behind me nadgers I think I damn near fried 'is brain with a non-verbal bolt of lust. _

Jesus, that man knows 'ow t'suck cock. Seriously, every so often I'm almost _glad_ I can't return the favour because I'd 'ate to wind up bein' second rate, yer know? He's down there on 'is knees, licking at me like a great big bloody cat, and then suckin' me off, every s'often using his bleedin' _teeth_. Yer wouldn't think 'aving someone's bloody 'amsteads skate over yer dick could be a _good_ thing, but I can testify it is a very fucken good thing indeed. 

Coherent thought basically became impossible after that point; I could only thrust and babble, peripherally aware that I was projecting an awful lot. Was also aware in a dim, 'azy sort of way of Bobby's own emotions just on the edge of me consciousness. 

*Bobbyharderyeroh_fuck_yeah...* 

Realised I was reachin' vinegar strokes - wasn't goin' ter last much longer. It suddenly it occurred t'me that Bobby 'ad a direct line inter me mind and it was quite likely that when I shot me load I'd wind up accidentally lobotomizin' the bloke with an orgasmic telepathic sledgehammer. 

Cut off telepathic contact at the last possible second before Bobby brought me off. And oh Jesus it felt good. (Yeah, way ter understate, eh?) Bobby stood up, wipin' at his mouth with the back of 'is 'and lookin' at me with these big blue eyes. I swear 'e swallows every fucken time and for some reason this pleases me t'no end. 

I stumbled forward an' put me arms around 'is neck, feeling this weird aching need t'be close to 'im. Bobby hugged me back, the picture of well-intentioned sweet sensitive male until 'e started rubbing 'is cock against me like a dog in 'eat. 

Heh. Sweet's awlright but nasty can be a lot more fun, anyway. 

I laughed, sensing 'e knew wot 'e was doing and was embarrassed. 'Aving just come like the fucken Kundalini Express, I was deeply relaxed in a way that made it incredibly easy ter tap into Bobby telepathically. S'funny how I seem to 'ave the best control after sex. I should bring that up in training sometime and see if Angel would go fer lettin' Robert and I run off fer quickies prior t'missions. 

Laughing still I reached down between us and gripped 'im in one hand. *Mmm,* I murmured, sending with the thought a silky, sexual feeling. Stroked 'im languidly fer a moment before moving t'his balls and flutterin' there til 'e was half-mad. Slipped me 'and back to 'is cock, runnin' me thumb over the head before wrappin' my fingers around the shaft again and squeezing slightly. 

Oh my, 'e did enjoy that. Smirking a little at me own evil nature, I started pullin' away. 

"Oh come _on_," Bobby moaned and tried t'keep thrusting inter my 'and. Poor bloke probably thought I was gointer leave 'im in the lurch there. I let go of 'im and shook me head. 

*Turn around,* I told 'im. Bobby complied without another word, standing about a foot away from the wall. As I pressed against 'im, he leaned forward slightly and rested 'is forearms against the tiles. 

I slid one hand over 'is stomach an' down t'his dick. Wrapped me fingers around the base, m'thumb and index finger pressed against 'is body. I slid me hand up slowly, palm sliding over the 'ead of 'is cock, before reversin' me grip and sliding back down. 

At th'same time, I was reachin' fer the soap dish with me other hand and lathering iup as best I could. (Look, mum, I'm multi-tasking!) Got soaped up and slippery and then slowly slid m'finger between Bobby's arse cheeks t'probe gently at the ol' khyber pass. 'E exhaled shakily as I slid me finger inside 'im. 

*How's that?* I asked, doing my absolute best t'approximate an oversexed whisper. 

Bobby grunted in reply, and I 'ad t'smile. The man _never_ shuts up, really, so if 'e can only grunt atcher yer gorra be doin' somethin' right. 

I pressed as close as I could ter 'im considerin' I 'ad one hand on 'is cock and a finger up' is arse, resting me cheek on is shoulder. I _wanted_ t'be close ter 'im, and more importantly I could feel that 'e wanted that too. 

As I moved, pace increasing, I concentrated on sending emotions across the telepathic link forged between 'is mind and mine, along with the occasional dirty whisper. 

*That's good, innit? Yeah?* 

"Yeah," Bobby croaked, and I sped up some more. 'E moaned and I grinned as wickedly as possible fer a man without a mouth. 

*Mmm. Bobby...* 

Debated slippin' 'im a length, but decided I wasn't really in the mood ter get meself ready fer action again. Besides, it was kinda nice ter just watch Bobby and t'be able to stroke at 'is mind the same way I stroked 'is body. 'E was gasping my name, muscles rigid and wet and beautiful. Cor. 

'E came, tryin' t'bite back a shout and mostly failing. I stayed pressed against 'im, removing my finger from 'is nether regions but leaving me 'and wrapped around 'is cock a while longer. Finally 'e straightened up and I let go and moved away, grabbing the soap again. 

"Whoo." 

*Uh-huh.* Oh, such a way with words we both 'ave. 

Bobby turned around, lookin' daffily pleased with 'imself. "You're not really Mr. Talkative, have I ever told you that?" he asked. 

*Yeah.* 

"Just checking. Pass the shampoo?" 

I did so, figgerin' the least I could do before kickin' 'im outta the David Gower was t'let him wash off. He nicked the soap from me with a grin, and I felt almost bad about not lettin' 'im stay. 

*Drake,* I said after he'd given 'imself a quick scrub with the soap. *If yer don't mind, I really would like to actually _shower_ now.* 

'E looked at me like I'd gone daft. "Jono, I don't know how to tell you this, but you're _in_ the shower." 

Bloody joker. *I mean alone.* 

"Why?" 'E protested, and I realized 'e really 'ad no intentions of goin' anywhere. "Jesus, Jono, I had your cock in my mouth not fifteen minutes ago. Your fragile English sensibilities could handle that just fine." 

Fragile English sensibilities, yet. Shittin'ell. 

*Bloody twit,* I muttered and flicked a finger against the bandages coverin' me face. *I do have skin under 'ere y'know,* I told 'im, *And my 'fragile English sensibilities' demand I clean it.* 

"Okay," 'e says all 'appy-go-lucky about it. "I'll get your back." 

I could only stare at 'im, waitin' fer the punchline. 

"I'm serious!" he said, then lowered 'is voice before continuing, "I'd like to. Really. I'll get behind you so I couldn't stare even if I wanted to, okay?" 

I was completely gobsmacked, ter say th'least. I sensed 'e honestly wanted ter stay, and _not_ out of morbid curiosity. Just… because. 

So, I decided to give 'im a chance. 

I sighed, mostly because I figgered it was expected of me. *You try anything comedic...* I said, lettin' it trail off in an unspoken threat. 

"Hey, scount's honour," he said and slipped behind me. 

I muttered a little t'meself, still in a state of pleasant surprise. He actually _wanted_ ter stay, and didn't seem revolted or uncomfortable in the slightest. Unbelievable. 

I reached up and undid the bandages without really thinkin' about it. Me own private nuclear furnace, I call it, and it _is_ hot, so the cold water 'it it with a hiss and steam plumed up everywhere. I sensed Bobby jump behind me and I chuckled, realisin' that 'e probably 'ad no idea wot was goin' on. 

*Cold water,* I explained. Newly reminded of me own fundamental strangeness, I abruptly felt self-conscious all over again. I mean, yeah, okay, it's not like Bobby's never seen me unwrapped, but never really under such intimate conditions. 

I mean, honestly, when yer eyes travel along naked flesh you expect it t'be smooth, unmarked. Okay, maybe some 'air or pimples or some damn thing. The occasional scar or tattoo. But yer don't expect t'suddenly encounter a gapin' crater spewing psionic fire. On top of that, there's really nasty scarring on wot flesh does remain around it. 

It's ugly. 

Too late by that point, though, so I reached out past the shower curtain and let me wrappins fall ter the floor, trying me level best t'act casual. Bobby didn't seem t'notice or care; 'e hummed softly and I could 'ear him soapin' up his 'ands. 'E reached out and I couldn't help but stiffen involuntarily when 'e touched me back. 

I forced meself t'relax by sayin' "It's Bobby," in me 'ead over and over again. He washed m'back as if it were no big deal, and that very fact made it a _huge _ bleedin' deal, at least ter me. 

He handed me the soap without bein' asked - a silent acquiesce of my desire not t'have anybody get near the hole in me. Shite like that makes me want ter act like a bloody nelly and just hug him, because it speaks of this stupidly deep understanding 'e 'as of me. 

Then he turns around and morphs back inter Mr. Comedian. Just as I was startin' t'ave these sentimental-type musings, 'e squeezed a buncha shampoo onta me 'ead and started scrubbing madly. I laughed, mostly out of surprise. 

Shot a glare at 'im over me shoulder anyway, because really, 'e deserves it. "Dah-link, you look MAHvehlous!" 'e crowed and shoved me forward t'get me 'ead under the shower-spray. Great big bloody idiot. 

I squeezed m'eyes shut t'keep the water out of em and felt Drake pat me on the arse before 'e jumped outta the shower. "There's a luv," it seemed ter say, so I made a mental note t'do something 'orrible t'him later. 

Heard a muted clatter and Drake cursing cheerfully as I turned the water off. Figgered 'e must 'ave tripped on something, again, and smiled as I stuck my arm out from behind the shower curtain. 

*Towel,* I commanded. 

Drake 'anded it ter me and 'ad the good sense to turn around while I put me bandages back on. I sat down on the loo, wonderin' absently if I should bother tryin' t'comb me hair. It's not usually worth the trouble. 

"Decent?" he asked. 

*Uh-huh.* 

Bobby turned around and just sort of _looked_. Not in a mean way, or in a "sweet god, wot is that thing?" sort of way either. I dunno wot 'e was looking at, really, but 'e looked kinda cute. 

*Wot?* I asked finally, me curiosity getting' the better of me. 

He smiled. Okay, really cute. "Nothing. So, was that--" 

There was a sudden poundin' at the bathroom door. I jumped t'me feet and Robert looked like 'e was about ter have 'eart failure. 

"Bobby, did you die in there?" 

Worthington's voice. Wanker. Saw that Bobby was trying not ter laugh, and recognized that 'I'm about t'do something really stupid' look on 'is face an instant before he unlocked the bathroom door and flung it wide open. 

"Warren!" 'e was saying before it 'ad even fully opened. "If you wanted to join us THAT badly you could have just..." 

The door opened and I saw that Warren was _not_ alone. Jubilee, of all people, was standing at 'is elbow, and next to her... 

"...asked." 

Paige Guthrie. 

Bugger. *** 

Death threats maye be sent to decadentmazohyst@yahoo.ca 


	3. Chapter Two B

**Author's Notes:** This is the sequel to It Could Be Sunshine. That means that this story takes place after the Designer Genes stories in the comics. Each chapter will be written from Bobby and Jono's POVs and marked with a B or J respectively in the chapter title in the drop-down bar. (And yes, the perversion of that is intentional.) 

**Chapter Two **

Dance on Glass 

"A whisper and a promise lit on fire   
Kiss the hand where the angels dread"   
-the Sisters of Mercy 

Warren arched a perfect eyebrow at me. I could feel my face try to flush and dropped my temperature accordingly. "This is a bad time?" Warren asked. 

"Ya think?" Jubilee cracked, still smirking. 

Paige was silent, her eyes huge and her mouth a thin, bitter line - it looked like she'd bitten into a lemon. 

"This isn't-I mean-" I couldn't make the words come out right, couldn't stay casual, couldn't ignore a rising sense of panic. _Jono,_ I kept thinking. _He's not dressed, they'll see him, he'll be mortified. Jono…_ I could imagine him leaping gazelle-like behind the shower curtain and curling up in a fetal positions on the bathtub floor. 

"I just wanted to tell you that Paige and Jubilee are here, and we need to have a meeting ASAP." Warren's eyes flicked over my shoulder as he spoke. Probably watching Incredible Shy Gazelle. "They have some very interesting news regarding-" 

I became aware that Jono was _not_ hiding behind the shower curtain only when I was shouldered roughly to one side. He was still just in his towel and bandages, but he didn't seem to notice or care. He was also clearly pissed off. 

*It couldn't wait five bleedin' minutes? Worthington, you wanker.* 

Warren looked peeved at that. "Look, this is X business and-" 

Jonothon took a menacing step forward and positively _loomed_. Somehow the fact that he was nearly naked didn't make him look any less threatening. *Shutcher gob, Worthington. We'll meet you in the briefin' room in fifteen minutes loik civilized bloody people but roit now th'lot of yer are goin' ter NAFF OFF!* His 'voice' was practically sizzling with anger and I winced involuntarily. Jonothon then turned on his heel, re-entered the bathroom, and slammed the door behind him. 

Me, I was leaning against the counter with my mouth hanging open. 

*Wot?* Jono snapped. My mouth answered entirely independently of my brain: 

"Punk _rock_." 

I giggled, expecting him to deck me but unable to stop myself. To my infinite surprise, he relaxed visibly and ran a hand through his tangled hair. This action did nothing save cause more of it to stick up in wild configurations. 

*Plonkers,* he said. *Remind me ter cause Warren serious bodily injury.* 

"I'll put it on a post-it note for you." I was still in awe and felt like laughing hysterically until I was back to normal. 

*Good.* He stared at his feet, looking all of a sudden miserable and lost. It hurt me to see him look that way so I took my hands off the counter and move forward to punch him lightly on the shoulder. 

"I don't think Warren will be teasing _you_ anytime in the near future," I said with a smile before proceeding to imitate his accent, "'Lest ya lob' 'is bleeding 'ead off!" 

His eyes crinkled up at the corners in a Jono-smile and I felt my heart lift. *You sound like Dick Van Dyke,* he said. I kissed him between the eyebrows. 

"I'm working on that one. Come on, let's get dressed." 

We got our clothes back on in relative silence, and I'm proud to announce that I resisted the urge to snap Jonothon's butt with a wet towel. I stood by the door, waiting for him to get his freaking boots back on. Normally I would have exited already so we wouldn't be caught emerging from the bathroom together, but I figured that really wasn't necessary now. 

I cocked an eyebrow at him when he joined me at the door. "Are you gonna be okay?" 

Jonothon shrugged noncommittally and went out before me. 

We walked in silence to the briefing room. As we approached we could hear voices - Paiges' soft drawl followed by Warren's dry, professional tone. He seemed to be explaining something to her quietly. Then Stacy's voice cut through the murmuring like an axe: 

"Oh, they're bum-buddies for Chrissake. What's the big deal?" 

Jonothon stopped dead and I ran into his back, nearly knocking us both over. He was shaking. _Great,_ I thought. _The Briefing Room is now the Gossip Lounge_. I moved around Jono and walked into the room, smiling broadly. 

"Hey guys, sorry for the wait," I said. Warren, Paige and Stacy looked vaguely guilty. Jubilee was watching me with bright curiosity while Kurt studiously examined his hands, thankfully deciding not to get involved at all. 

"So what's so important you had to drop in on a Wednesday night without a hello or a cup of coffee, eh?" I directed the question to Jubilee and Paige as I sank into a chair. Forced myself to relax and keep grinning - good ol' Bobby Drake, ever the joker and never concerned. Meanwhile I felt like I might throw up. 

Jonothon had entered the room by now and was standing close to the door, inscrutable. 

"As you know," Warren started, "Paige and Jubilee have been overseas as of late. They were in the UK and came across something they thought might be worth checking out." 

"Don't keep me in suspense," I said. Jubilee smiled. 

"Mutants are totally 'in' over there, as ya already know" she said. "So at first we didn't think nothin' of it." 

"Nothing of _what_?" Stacy asked impatiently. 

"I'm getting' to that. Okay, so Guthrie and I were kinda chillin' a little - not really up to the whole savin' the world thing after Paris, yanno? - and we started hearin' all this stuff about this singer guy. This _mutant_ singer guy." 

"His name is Aleister Ashbury," Paige interrupted. "Prior to this he was a mutants rights activist. His whole slant is that mutants have been kept from the performing arts for fear of their secret being exposed, and that he is going to be the pioneer that clears the way for others." 

"Nothing unusual about that, at least not lately," Kurt commented. "Mutants sell, ja?" 

"Yeah," Jubilee said. "That's what we said. I mean, saw the guy a few times on some magazine covers and he's pretty cute, but probably the flavour of the month, yanno?" She glanced at Jono while she said this. 

"The reason we came here," Paige went on, "is that we started hearing weird rumours about his concerts." 

"Weird like how?" I asked. 

"Like people going to them and never coming back," Jubilee said. I nodded slowly. 

"What's even more disturbing is that there seems to be a strangely high suicide rate among people who attend the concerts," Paige added. "It's like these kids go to the concert, have a blast, and come home and swallow a bullet." 

"Naturally the cops aren't doing anything," Jubilee said and stretched. "I mean, what _can_ they do? There's no evidence. Just lots of dead kids. Dead _human_ kids anyway. Not one of 'em has had the X-Factor so far." 

"So you think we're dealing with another homo-superior supremacist?" Warren asked. The girls nodded and I groaned. 

"Another one? Oh, man. Can't these guys just go to group therapy or something? 'Hello, my name is Magneto and I'm a mutant neo-nazi.' 'Hi, Magneto!'" 

Warren shot me a look. I decided he could bite me. 

"Our problem is that he's practically untouchable," Paige said with a sigh. "Except at concerts and interviews and whatnot, he has no contact with the public." 

"Celebrities," said Jubilee with an overdramatic shake of her head. "We figure the only hope we have of finding out what's going on is to get somebody on the inside." 

Stacy grinned shark-like and crossed her legs. "Colour me a groupie," she said and laughed. 

Hey, wait a second. "That's not a bad idea," I said. Warren arched an eyebrow at me. "No, seriously. Ignoring this whole secret agenda thing, the guy is still a musician. And what are the three things sacred to a musician?" 

"Sex, drugs and rock'n'roll!" Both Jubilee and Stacy shouted. Warren rolled his eyes. 

"Warren," Kurt said thoughtfully. "Due to your dealings with Vanisher's people, you might be able to get a contact there." His sharp white teeth flashed in a smile. "Vith Miss X's help, that would cover two out of three, ja?" 

"We can do better than that, even," Jubilee said. "Three for three." 

"How's that?" I asked. Jubilee grinned and pointed at Jono, still lurking by the doorway. 

"Him." 

Everybody just stared incredulously at that one, including me. Jono looked pretty shocked too, actually. Warren looked like he was about to say something and Jubilee held up one hand to halt him. 

"Hear me out, here. Word is that Ashbury wants ta start his own label - a la Trent Reznor or something - meaning he'll be looking for new talent to tour with him before signing em on. New _mutant_ talent as a matter of fact. Now, I dunno if he's given it up since becoming a big bad X-Man, but Starsmore there used ta play a mean guitar and he's pretty obviously a mutant." 

Kurt looked thoughtful. "One with previous coverage in the media, no less," he said slowly. "Vhat is it they say… 'any publicity is good publicity'?" 

Jubilee grinned. "Bingo. So we convince this guy that Jono is the new face - heh - of mutant rock and roll. We also let hints drop that Jono's all for mutant superiority." 

"We could use the mess with Sugar Kane," Warren muttered, pacing a little. He was looking a little excited now. "Fuel for his anti-human sentiments. Hm. How much would this cost to fund…?" 

Warren and Kurt leaned close together for a moment, muttering over the details. Me, I looked over at Jonothon. 

He... didn't look impressed. Okay, that's putting it a little mildly. His hands were balled into tight fists at his sides and his shoulders had acquired a defiant hunch. I was suddenly reminded of a conversation we'd had on our first official date, when I'd basically annoyed him into giving me a shot as something more than a fuck-pal. 

_"What did you want to be once you got older?" _

*A rockstar.* 

"Seriously?" 

*Yes.* 

I suddenly got the feeling that this plan was a Very Bad Idea. 

"Hey, guys, hold up," I interrupted, but too late. 

*I won't do it.* 

Everyone turned to look at him and I sighed quietly. Great. 

"Chamber," Kurt started, "while this is not guaranteed to work, it significantly ups the odds of getting someone close to Ashbury and-" 

*No.* The word was emphatic. 

Jubilee looked affronted. "Oh come on, it's a GOOD plan!" 

*So get someone else ter do it.* 

"There is nobody else!" She said, marching over to look up at Jonothon angrily. The height difference would have been comical under other circumstances. "You're the only frickin' frackin' X-Man who knows his ass from an amp!" 

*Tough. Besides, there's one major flaw in yer plan there, gel.* His tone was cold as well, ice. 

"Which is?" 

*It's a rock label, innit? An' in rock bands, who is it that gets all the attention?* 

Understanding dawned on Stacy's face with sudden dismay. "The singer," she answered quietly. 

Jonothon waved a hand as if to say 'there you have it.' *Me guitar skills are not so impressive as ter be the second coming of Hendrix,* he said. There was a hollow smugness in his demeanor that I found disturbing. *And I cannot sing.* 

Ah, but _that_ was a lie. 

Hating myself, I spoke up: "That's not true." 

Jonothon shot me a look that warned me that if I wanted to keep him I'd better shut my mouth. But I couldn't; kids were dying, after all. I'd be a pretty shitty superhero if I didn't try to help. 

"Vas is it, Robert?" Kurt asked. His eyes were bright needles pricking their way over my face, searching for clues. 

I shifted, hyper-aware that I was about to reveal personal information I had no right to divulge. But dammit, what else was I supposed to do? "Jono can sing," I said slowly. 

Stacy raised a questioning eyebrow. "Without vocal chords?" she asked doubtfully. 

"Well, yeah," I said. "It's just like how he talks. He sings in your mind. It's not like hearing a song, either." They were all looking at me strangely. "I mean… okay. Take the best song you ever heard, the most emotionally charged. Now imagine it in concert, but instead of just hearing it you feel exactly what the singer feels as he sings it." I shrugged uncomfortably. "It's like that. Emotional surround-sound." 

"And you've heard this?" Paige asked softly. She wasn't looking at me when she asked. 

Sweet Jesus, this went beyond humiliating and all the way into Shamesville. "Well, yeah," I admitted. "Well, not _heard_, but… you know." 

"When?" she asked, her voice still low. I floundered because I couldn't very well tell her that I'd 'heard' him lots of times. I'd heard him singing when we went walking, when he was folding laundry, after we made love. Countless occasions. The first time he'd apologized, embarrassed, but I'd begged him to continue because it felt so _good_. 

*That's not important,* Jono broke in. He sounded vaguely desperate and I felt an instant stab of regret. *Still not goin' ter work. I can't be recorded, regardless.* 

"That might not be a problem," Stacy said, almost apologetically. "I mean, this guy's big thing is concerts, right? Couldn't you just, you know, project real loud?" 

Jubilee nodded. "Yeah! I mean, it's just to get close to the guy. Heck, if Drake's not exaggeratin' then it's even better this way because it'll be something nobody but a mutant _could_ do." She looked serious - an expression I'm not used to seeing Jubilee wear. "Whaddya say, Jono? Think you can do it?" 

Pure dismay flashed in his eyes before he dropped them to the floor and muttered, *Yeah.* 

Jubilee grabbed one of Jono's hands and squeezed it quickly before letting it drop. "Thanks," she said simply. 

*Yeah, yeah.* 

The rest of the meeting went by in a blur as we worked out as many details as possible. Both Jonothon and Paige were both pretty quiet the entire time, something I did not take as a particularly good sign. 

Finally the meeting was adjourned. It was decided that we'd haul our asses to the UK the following day and set up a base of operations. Kurt was going to call ahead and clear everything, since he still had connections from his Excalibur days. 

"I'm staaaaaaarved," Jubilee exclaimed as we all exited the briefing room. I realized that I'd kinda missed the kid - the mansion was a lot quieter without her, but it had been nice to have somebody besides myself to blame for toilet-papering Warren's Mercedes Benz. 

"Hey chicken-boy, how's about you spring for dinner, eh?" Stacy asked, sidling a little closer to Warren, who appeared to be taking inventory of Miss Guthrie's assets. 

"Huh?" he said, and I hid a grin. "Oh. Sure. Paige? Woud you care to join us? And you too of course, Jubilee." Warren flashed some impeccable dental work. 

"Bring me back a doggy-bag," Kurt said with an over-dramatic sigh. "I have some long-distance calls to make." He bamfed away, leaving Jubilee waving one hand to clear the smoke. 

"Bobby?" Warren asked. I shook my head. 

"Nah, I'm good. I've got a few things to do, myself." 

Stacy's mouth spread into a lazy smirk. "I _bet_ you do," she said and cast a sly glance at Jono, who was already plodding moodily down the hallway. 

"Shut up, Stacy," I said pleasantly. "I'll see you guys in the morning." 

As I walked away I heard Jubilee, _sotto voice_, saying, "SOMEbody better fill us in on this new development over dinner." 

It never ends. 

I found Jonothon in his bedroom, standing in front of his closet with the lights off. There was an open suitcase on his bed - other than that his room was the same mess it usually was. 

"Packing?" I enquired. He turned his head slowly to look at me and if looks could kill, I wouldn't be here right now. 

*You had no right,* he stated flatly. 

I came inside, my hands turned up in front of me in a gesture of peace. "Maybe not. But you know as well as I do that we have responsibilities, and we can't run away from them just because of personal issues." Great. Now I sounded like Cyclops. 

*So now I get to play at being a rockstar,* he replied bitterly. He shook his head and uttered a laugh so caustic I winced. *So wot should I pack then, eh?* he asked, gesturing sweepingly at the closet. *Gorra look the part at least.* 

I took a cautious step forward. I'd never seen him act so unhinged before. I mean, I've seen him angry and I've seen him depressed but this was something different. 

"Well," I said slowly, edging closer. "I like you in leather." 

Jono arched an eyebrow at me and I smiled back, hoping it was a sign his mood was improving. *Yer mean yer like peeling me outta it,* he replied. Couldn't argue with that. He turned away from the closet and advanced on me, hands reaching for the belt loops on my pants. He grabbed them and pulled me against him, his eyes boring into mine the whole time. They were hellishly bright; burning with something I wasn't so sure was desire. 

"Jono," I started and he silenced me by moving a hand to my crotch and squeezing gently. 

*Fuck me.* 

Fuh. Shnnyeah. Other such nonsense words. 

"Uh," I managed. 

Jonothon let go of me and with one quick movement removed his sweater and tossed it aside. I remembered how reluctant he'd been in the bathroom and felt a surge of disbelief. He stood there for a minute, slender and wraith-like. Then he was pressing against me again, long fingers tangling in my hair. I felt his bandaged cheek rasp down the side of my face and I closed my eyes. 

I could feel him tickling my brain again, igniting urgent physical responses. But underneath that, a seething desperation lurked. It scared me a little. 

"Jono," I said, somehow regaining control of my motor functions enough to push him away. "I'm not sure if this is, you know, if this is a great idea." 

He dropped his hands to his sides and looked away, his body a live wire I was afraid to touch. I was about to say something, I don't know what, when he spoke again, very low. The words quivered in my mind. 

*Do you have... any idea... wot it's like t'have the one thing you wanted most taken away from you?* he asked. *And then, just when yer think you've finally gotten over it, just when you start t'bury dreams that 'ave died… It's offered t'yer once again. Only this time, it's not the same.* He scrubbed a hand over his face and I wondered if he was crying. *Not the same.* 

He moved past me and sat down on the bed, long hands dangling between his thighs and his head down. Looking at him I felt awful, I mean really awful, and the hell of it was that there wasn't much I could do. 

After a moment I sat down beside him and carefully put an arm around his thin shoulders, expecting him to jerk or move away. He did neither, just sat there like a puppet with cut strings. "Jono," I said, my voice thick and too quiet. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Jono, hey. It's gonna be alright." 

He turned to look at me and I regretted opening my big dumb mouth. *Awlroit?* he asked. *It's goin' ter... Gordon Bennet!* He fell backwards and my arm slipped from his shoulders. He covered his eyes with one hand for a minute before looking up at me. 

*Robert, you are by far the most ridiculous person I've ever met in me life.* 

It didn't sound like an insult so I shrugged and smiled a little. "I get that a lot." 

*Lay down. Please.* 

I did as he asked, so now both our legs were hanging off the side of the bed. "Hey," I said. "Maybe we should move so we're laying the right way, here…" 

He rolled onto his side and pressed against me, one arms reaching across my stomach to hold me in a panicky grip while he buried his face against my shoulder. I twisted my head to look down and saw his eyes were squeezed shut. 

"Do you wanna talk about it?" I asked quietly. 

*No.* 

Fair enough. We lay there together, in the dark, legs hanging off the edge of the bed or jutting into space, not speaking, for what seemed a very long time. 

Send death threats to decadentmazohyst@yahoo.ca 


	4. Chapter Two J

**Author's Notes:** This is the sequel to It Could Be Sunshine. That means that this story takes place after the Designer Genes stories in the comics. Each chapter will be written from Bobby and Jono's POVs and marked with a B or J respectively in the chapter title in the drop-down bar. (And yes, the perversion of that is intentional.) 

**Chapter Two   
Dance on Glass**

"Screaming in the darkness torn and ragged   
For the love of god, my dreams look dim"   
-the Sisters of Mercy 

At first I could only stare, my attention riveted by a pair of cornflower blue eyes. _Her_ eyes. 

_Nononononono,_ I thought. _This cannot be 'appening._ But it was. It was Paige alright, standin' at the doorway with a clear view of a rather incriminatin' scene. 

"This is a bad time?" Warren asked. I wanted t'smash his face in right about then. 

"Ya think?" Jubilee cracked, smirking. 

Bobby, as usual, wasn't doin' anything t'improve the situation. Bloody twit was just standing there, stammering. 

"This isn't-I mean-" 

Oh yeah. Way t'allay their suspicions, Drake! Plonker. 

"I just wanted to tell you that Paige and Jubilee are here," Warren went on, speakin' to Bobby as though I weren't standin' a few feet away practically starkers, "and we need to have a meeting ASAP." 

Warren's eyes flicked over Drake's shoulder t'look at me then. There was a mildly contemptible look in em, as if he'd maybe caught a whiff of somethin' ill-smelling. 

I've gotten that look before, and seein' it in the eyes of a rich pretty boy like that was nigh intolerable. Suddenly, I didn't care that Paige was standing there, didn't care that she and th'rest of em were getting' a much more intimate look at me than I'd like, didn't care even if they knew wot Drake and I 'ad been up to minutes before. 

There was Angel, fresh from 'eaven and interrupting a bloody private moment with his holier-than-thou attitude… and it made me furious. 

"They have some very interesting news regarding-" 

I strode forward and shoved Drake outta the way so I could get in Warren's face. *It couldn't wait five bleedin' minutes?* I asked, cutting the bugger off mid-sentence. *Worthington, you wanker.* 

Warren looked pissed at that. "Look, this is X business and-" 

_Roit,_ I thought. _That's it._

I took a step forward, barely keepin' me desire t'pop him one in check. *Shutcher gob, Worthington. We'll meet you in the briefin' room in fifteen minutes loik civilized bloody people but roit now th'lot of yer are goin' ter NAFF OFF!* 

Relished the shocked look on Worthington's face, but since I didn't want things t'come to blows I turned on me heel and marched back inter the loo, slamming the door shut behind me. 

Robert was backed up against the sink counter, eyes eatin' up his face and mouth 'anging open. He looked like a fish. 

*Wot?* I asked. 

He blinked, and with this daffy grin spreadin' over 'is face he replied in a softly awed voice, "Punk _rock_," and giggled. 

Oh fer… Lookin' at that great big bloody idiot, I felt a surge of affection for 'im which served t'smother the last of my already dwindling anger. I relaxed a little and ran a hand through me 'air. *Plonkers. Remind me ter cause Warren serious bodily injury.* 

"I'll put it on a post-it note for you," Bobby said. 

*Good,* I replied and looked at me feet. Wot a mess. Paige, of all people, appearin' out of the blue like that. And while the rest of the bleedin' mansion might know about Robert and me, this was different, because Paige was… Paige. Ah, bloody 'ell. 

Bobby moved forward and punched me on the shoulder, jolting me out of me reverie. "I don't think Warren will be teasing _you_ anytime in the near future," 'e said with a smile before proceeding to do the worst British accent in the 'istory of man, "'Lest ya lob' 'is bleeding 'ead off!" 

It was _bad_. I mean, bloody awful. So I 'ad t'smile. *You sound like Dick Van Dyke,* I told 'im. 

'E leaned forward an' kissed me between the eyebrows. "I'm working on that one. Come on, let's get dressed." 

Proceeded ter do so, Bobby waitin' by the door as I got me boots back on. "Are you gonna be okay?" he asked, cockin' an eyebrow as 'e spoke. 

Decided I couldn't really answer that as I didn't know meself, so I just shrugged and started down the hall. Once we got close ter the briefing room we could 'ear voices. Sounded like Warren was lecturing, an' I could 'ear Paige in there as well. 

Just the sound of 'er voice made wot's left of me guts tangle up. Then all of a sudden Stacy's voice cuts through the air, "Oh, they're bum-buddies for Chrissake. What's the big deal?" 

I stopped walking abruptly, and Robert crashed right inter me and almost knocked us over. Paralysed, I could only think that I wanted ter get the fuck outta there and not 'ave t'face any of them. 

It's not that I was ashamed, exactly, just… mildly mortified. 

Robert apparently 'ad no such worries because 'e slipped around me and waltzed inter the Briefing Room. 

"Hey guys, sorry for the wait," he said. 

_Get a grip, Starsmore,_ I thought t'meself. _Yer not gointer nancy out now._

"So what's so important you had to drop in on a Wednesday night without a hello or a cup of coffee, eh?" Bobby was saying as I sauntered in. Made sure not ter walk like a fugitive or something. Stood close t'the door though. Just in case. 

"As you know," Warren started, "Paige and Jubilee have been overseas as of late. They were in the UK and came across something they thought might be worth checking out." 

"Don't keep me in suspense," Bobby said. Bloody 'ell, how can 'e stay so _cheerful_ sounding? 

Jubilee smiled. Cor, kinda missed that little brat. "Mutants are totally 'in' over there, as ya already know" she said. "So at first we didn't think nothin' of it." 

"Nothing of _what_?" Stacy interrupted. 

"I'm getting' to that," Jubes replies in this annoyed 'don't rush me' sorta tone. "Okay, so Guthrie and I were kinda chillin' a little - not really up to the whole savin' the world thing after Paris, yanno? - and we started hearin' all this stuff about this singer guy. This _mutant_ singer guy." 

"His name is Aleister Ashbury," Paige went on. "Prior to this he was a mutants rights activist. His whole slant is that mutants have been kept from the performing arts for fear of their secret being exposed, and that he is going to be the pioneer that clears the way for others." 

Couldn't 'elp but notice her accent is almost entirely gone now. Pity, that. 

"Nothing unusual about that, at least not lately," Kurt commented. "Mutants sell, ja?" 

"Yeah," Jubilee said. "That's what we said. I mean, saw the guy a few times on some magazine covers and he's pretty cute, but probably the flavour of the month, yanno?" 

Jubilee at this point cast a very deliberate glance at me. Bugger. I was sort of 'oping she was gointer let me forget about my ugly mug bein' splashed all over London's tabloids. 

"The reason we came here," Paige said, "is that we started hearing weird rumours about his concerts." 

"Weird like how?" Bobby asked. 

"Like people going to them and never coming back," Jubilee said. He nodded slowly. 

"What's even more disturbing is that there seems to be a strangely high suicide rate among people who attend the concerts," Paige added. "It's like these kids go to the concert, have a blast, and come home and swallow a bullet." 

"Naturally the cops aren't doing anything," Jubilee said an' stretched. "I mean, what _can_ they do? There's no evidence. Just lots of dead kids. Dead _human_ kids anyway. Not one of 'em has had the X-Factor so far." 

"So you think we're dealing with another homo-superior supremacist?" Warren asked. Paige and Jubes nodded and Bobby let out a theatrical groan. 

"Another one?" 'E said. "Oh, man. Can't these guys just go to group therapy or something? 'Hello, my name is Magneto and I'm a mutant neo-nazi.' 'Hi, Magneto!'" 

Oh Jesus. That's a bad one. Warren glared at him. 

"Our problem is that he's practically untouchable," Paige said with a sigh. "Except at concerts and interviews and whatnot, he has no contact with the public." 

"Celebrities," Jubes said and shook 'er head. "We figure the only hope we have of finding out what's going on is to get somebody on the inside." 

Stacy crossed 'er legs and grinned hugely. "Colour me a groupie," she said, an' laughed. Certainly can look the part. 

"That's not a bad idea," Bobby said. 'E had the 'lightbulb-over-the-ead' look. Warren arched an eyebrow at 'im in question. "No, seriously. Ignoring this whole secret agenda thing, the guy is still a musician. And what are the three things sacred to a musician?" 

Sex, drugs and rock'n'roll, o'course. 

"Sex, drugs and rock'n'roll!" Jubilee and Stacy shouted in unison. Warren rolled his eyes. 

"Warren," Kurt said thoughtfully. "Due to your dealings with Vanisher's people, you might be able to get a contact there." His sharp white teeth flashed in a smile. "Vith Miss X's help, that would cover two out of three, ja?" 

"We can do better than that, even," Jubilee said. "Three for three." 

_Wot's she on about now then?_ I wondered. 

"How's that?" Bobby asked. 

Jubilee grinned and pointed directly at me. "Him," she said, the word like a shot through me non-existent heart. 

Everybody else just stared. Can't blame 'em. Warren started ter say something and Jubilee 'eld up a hand. 

"Hear me out, here. Word is that Ashbury wants ta start his own label - a la Trent Reznor or something - meaning he'll be looking for new talent to tour with him before signing em on. New _mutant_ talent as a matter of fact. Now, I dunno if he's given it up since becoming a big bad X-Man, but Starsmore there used ta play a mean guitar and he's pretty obviously a mutant." 

Oh, we are NOT having this conversation. 

Kurt, whom I'd been counting on to see reason and say it was a bloody STUPID idea, looked thoughtful. "One with previous coverage in the media, no less," he said slowly. "Vhat is it they say… 'any publicity is good publicity'?" 

WOT? 

Jubilee grinned. "Bingo. So we convince this guy that Jono is the new face - heh - of mutant rock and roll. We also let hints drop that Jono's all for mutant superiority." 

"We could use the mess with Sugar Kane," Warren muttered, pacing a little. I felt the burning urge t'separate 'is wings form his body. "Fuel for his anti-human sentiments. Hm. How much would this cost to fund…?" 

Warren and Kurt leaned close together fer a second, muttering over the details. 

As for meself, I would 'ave stormed out if I hadn't been immobile with fury. Fer one thing, they were all talking about me like I wasn't even there and as someone who is routinely ignored in public places fer being an obvious mutant that is MOST aggravating. Secondly, wot they were thinking of was just… not going ter 'appen. A twisted granting of one of me oldest dreams…? No. I've been through enough, thanks. 

"Hey, guys, hold up," Bobby said. Barely noticed 'im. 

*I won't do it,* I stated. 

Everyone stopped their bloody blathering and turned to look at me. Good. 

"Chamber," Kurt started, "while this is not guaranteed to work, it significantly ups the odds of getting someone close to Ashbury and-" 

*No.* I genuinely like Kurt, but there was no way I was planning ter let 'im talk me inter this madness. 

"Oh come on, it's a GOOD plan!" Jubilee said. She looked about ready ter throw a tantrum. 

*So get someone else ter do it.* 

"There is nobody else!" She said, and marched over t'look up at me. I half expected 'er t'jam a finger in my chest fer emphasis. "You're the only frickin' frackin' X-Man who knows his ass from an amp!" 

*Tough. Besides, there's one major flaw in yer plan there, gel.* I made sure t'project as cold a tone as possible, hoping she'd just drop it. 

"Which is?" 

*It's a rock label, innit? An' in rock bands, who is it that gets all the attention?* 

"The singer," Stacy answered quietly. Glad ter see somebody in the room 'ad some sense. I waved a hand ter acknowledge her reply before continuing. 

*Me guitar skills are not so impressive as ter be the second coming of Hendrix. And I cannot sing.* 

Not anymore, anyway. Not _really_. 

Everyone looked more or less convinced and I was startin' ter relax when Robert opened 'is big mouth and said, "That's not true." 

Bastard. I glared at him, willing 'im ter shut up. I knew exactly wot 'e was thinking of, and it wasn't _fair_ that he share that with anyone else because it was sort of secret. Between us, yer know? Betraying that sort of trust is unforgivable. 

Kurt broke the silence. "Vas is it, Robert?" 

Robert shifted and I again willed him to just shut up and leave it alone. "Jono can sing," he said instead. 

Stacy's eyebrow lifted in disbelief. "Without vocal chords?" 

"Well, yeah," 'e said. "It's just like how he talks. He sings in your mind. It's not like hearing a song, either. I mean… okay. Take the best song you ever heard, the most emotionally charged. Now imagine it in concert, but instead of just hearing it you feel exactly what the singer feels as he sings it." 

I started a little. Izzat wot it feels like, then? 

"It's like that," Bobby went on. "Emotional surround-sound." 

Paige looked at me, her gaze confused and hurt. "And you've heard this?" she asked Bobby, not taking 'er eyes off of me. I 

"Well, yeah," Bobby said like it wasn't really a big deal. "Well, not _heard_, but… you know." 

"When?" Page asked. 'Er voice was soft and I wanted desperately for the conversation t'be over. 

*That's not important,*I said in a near panic. *Still not goin' ter work. I can't be recorded, regardless.* 

"That might not be a problem," Stacy said. She sounded like she was sorry. "I mean, this guy's big thing is concerts, right? Couldn't you just, you know, project real loud?" 

Jubilee nodded. "Yeah! I mean, it's just to get close to the guy. Heck, if Drake's not exaggeratin' then it's even better this way because it'll be something nobody but a mutant _could_ do." She got all serious then - a rare thing indeed. "Whaddya say, Jono? Think you can do it?" 

Really, wot could I say? That I didn't _want_ to? And besides, looking at Jubilee I was reminded of Everett, who was killed before 'is life ever really got proper started. Those kids she'd been talkin' about shared the same fate, and that's just bloody wrong. 

So I said, *Yeah,* even though it felt like I was dying on the inside. 

Jubilee grabbed one of me hands and squeezed it. Gratitude radiated off her like body-heat. "Thanks," she said. 

*Yeah, yeah.* 

Got to sit back after that and let the leader-types hash out the specifics. Honestly, I was barely payin' attention. I kept looking at Paige, who spent most o'the meeting looking at 'er hands, which were folded tightly together. I wanted to taker 'er aside and try to explain. Explain wot, exactly? I didn't know then, and I don't know now. Maybe that things 'ad been different between us, that I'd been very messed up and that… bloody hell, I don't know. Maybe I just wanted to tell her to stop makin' me feel so guilty. 

The meeting ended when it was decided we'd fly to the UK the following day after Kurt 'ad called ahead and set up things with some old contacts of 'is. We left the briefing room and I started off down the hall without looking back. Vaguely, I registered Jubilee complaining about bein' hungry and Stacy saying something to Warren. Didn't care. 

Went to me room and pulled a suitcase out from under the bed. Didn't bother t'turn any lights on since I know the layout of me own bedroom pretty well and was in no mood for illumination of any kind just then. Been too much light shed on things that evening, in my opinion. 

Opened the closet and just stared blankly as my eyes adjusted. I could remember, all too clearly, a time when I'd done much the same thing. _Wot t'wear t'the gig tonight?_

Damn memory. I could hear me mates in the next room, Sasha's witchlike cackle cutting through the drone of voices. I could smell cigarettes, spilt lager and stale sex. Oh yeah, I'd thought I was goin' ter have it all. 

An almost tentative voice jolted me out of me reverie. "Packing?" 

Bobby. I turned m'head to look at 'im and in that moment I hated him so exquisitely it was divine. 

*You had no right,* I told 'im, words dropping like stones. 

He walked inter me room uninvited, hands turned up like 'e was calling fer a truce. "Maybe not. But you know as well as I do that we have responsibilities, and we can't run away from them just because of personal issues." 

*So now I get to play at being a rockstar,*I replied, and laughed. Oh, I've never heard anything less funny in me whole life and it felt more like bleeding than laughing. *So wot should I pack then, eh?* I waved an arm at the closet. *Gorra look the part at least.* 

Bobby took a step closer. "Well," he said. "I like you in leather." 

I raised an eyebrow at that and he smiled. *Yer mean yer like peeling me outta it,* I said. He didn't reply, probably because that was exactly true. 

I could remember someone else's hand gliding up my thigh, clad in worn leather, and felt a vertigo that wrenched at the core of me. All those fevered hopes and dreams, not laid to rest after all. Oh god, I wanted what had been lost but it would never be the same again. 

So, in desperation, I groped for the present. 

I turned away from the closet and moved legs that felt like steel poles until I was close enough ter grab Bobby's belt loops and pull 'im against me. I kept me eyes fixed on his - searching for something, I don't know wot, in those strangely innocent blue depths. 

"Jono," he started, and I shut 'im up by squeezing his crotch gently with one 'and. 

I hated them all right then, because it was as if they'd taken something sacred t'me and twisted it fer their own purposes. I felt raped, frankly, and decided there was only one way t'ignore the sensation, or at least t'feel it properly. 

*Fuck me.* 

Bobby stared. "Uh," he said at last. I could feel his emotions at the edge of my perception - confusion warring with want. I felt like crying. 

Instead I let go of him and stepped away so I could pull me sweater off and toss it aside like a dead skin. Why not? He'd already seen everything there was t'see, and besides that, I felt feverish. I wanted t'tear the flesh from me body, and this was the next best thing. 

I pressed against 'im, fingers tangling in 'is hair as I scraped wot's left of one cheek down the side of 'is face. At the same time I reached out with mental 'ands in the hopes of igniting the same sort of raw animal lust he'd displayed earlier in the shower. I felt used - I wanted 'im ter take me like a cheap whore. 

"Jono," he said instead, and pushed me away. "I'm not sure if this is, you know, if this is a great idea." 

No, probably not, because I'd resent 'im for it later even though it was all my idea. I dropped me hands t'me sides and looked away, trying not to break down. It wasn't Bobby's fault - I knew that. And I felt I owed him some sort of explanation, because 'e was standing there with 'is stupid face hanging out in concern. 

*Do you have… any idea… wot it's like t'have the one thing you wanted most taken away from you?* I finally asked. *And then, just when yer think you've finally gotten over it, just when you start t'bury dreams that 'ave died… It's offered t'yer once again. Only this time, it's not the same.* I could feel my dried out, pathetic body wanting t'weep and I scrubbed a hand over the remains of me face. *Not the same.* 

I moved past 'im and sat on the bed, starin' at the floor without really seein' it. Robert joined me after a moment and put an arm around me. I felt sick, and was glad in a remote way that 'e was there. "Jono," he said, 'is voice thick barely audible. 'E cleared 'is throat. "Jono, hey. It's gonna be alright." 

I could 'ardly believe he'd uttered such a blatant lie. I turned t'look at 'im, utterly floored. *Awlroit?* I practically choked on the thought. *It's goin' ter… Gordon Bennet!* I fell backwards, mind reeling. I lay there, one hand over me eyes, waiting to pass out or die or somethin' and when neither 'appened I moved me hand and looked up at the fantastically absurd creature that is Robert Drake. 

'Alright.' Can you believe it? 

*Robert, you are by far the most ridiculous person I've ever met in me life,* I told 'im, and I meant it. Wot I couldn't say was that at that moment I loved him for it. 

Bloody twit smiled and shrugged. "I get that a lot." 

*Lay down. Please.* I didn't want to 'ave t'beg him, but I would 'ave. I needed him beside me. 

But then, Bobby's not the type ter make me beg fer anything. Thought probably never even crossed 'is mind. 'E lay down. "Maybe we should move so we're laying the right way, here…" he said. 

I rolled onto me side and pressed against 'im, one arms reaching across 'is stomach to hold 'im. I couldn't risk him moving away. Buried me face against 'is shoulder and shut me eyes against everything like a little kid. 

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he asked quietly. 

*No.* 

'E was content with that, and I was grateful. I would do wot I 'ad ter do, but the less I could think about it the better. 

Send death-threats to decadentmazohyst@yahoo.ca 


	5. Chapter Three B

Chapter Three 

**One Angel Short of Heaven**

"No stranger to you   
Thinking the unspeakable I'm craving to do."   
- Rosetta Stone 

Does is it always rain in England? 

We'd landed in London at an ungodly hour of the morning, and when we got off the jet it was raining. We set up base underneath a fish and chips shop that had gone out of business. Kurt assured us that no real estate agents or anything would be swinging by - the building was owned by a friend of his. 

While we were setting up equipment, it was raining. When we sent Jubilee out to find us some coffee, it was raining; she returned with a soggy cardboard tray and lukewarm java. And while we sat around and worked out the last details of our plans, it was _still_ raining. 

"Alright," Warren was saying as the drumming of rain against the dark windows of the cellar drove me insane. "So Stacy, you're clear on what you have to do?" 

Stacy smiled. "Don't worry your pretty little head about me," she said. Warren nodded curtly. 

"If you run into any trouble," Kurt started and she cut him off with a shake of her head. 

"I know, I know. I'll stay in contact so you know exactly what's going on." 

Kurt relaxed a little, nodding. Stacy had the tough job, really, since she had to go in without much backup. Jubilee would be masquerading as a fan as well, but chances were Stacy would be the one to wind up backstage. Alone. 

Warren and Kurt were both too easily recognizable, so they got to hold down the fort and play cavalry if the need arose. In the event Jonothon was picked up by Ashbury to go on tour, as we were hoping, I was going to go undercover as a roadie. This suited me just fine, since it meant I didn't have to adopt a vastly different persona and, more importantly, I could wear my own clothes. 

There was really only one thing that was bothering me about this entire assignment, and she had blonde hair and blue eyes. 

For some bizarre reason, Warren and Kurt had decided to have Paige pose as Jonothon's manager. To me, this was obviously a BAD idea, since they'd be interacting with each other a lot, but Warren argued that not only did Paige have a better grasp of the situation with the Ashbury guy but she could also pull off a professional manner better than Jubilee or I. 

Which, I have to admit, were valid points. It didn't change the fact, however, that the two of them seemed to be having issues with the decision themselves. As Warren went over procedures I knew by heart already, I watched the two of them sneak troubled glances at one another and wondered for the hundredth time if they just hated each other or if there was some sort of horrible regret at work there. 

Me? Jealous? Of course not. Concerned, maybe, but not _jealous_. 

"Bobby?" 

I blinked and turned, aware I hadn't been paying the slightest attention to Warren. "Uh, yeah?" 

Warren frowned and leaned closer, dropping his voice a bit. "You need to focus, Bobby," he told me, like I was some unreliable newbie. 

"I'm fine, Warren," I said, maybe a little more snappishly than I'd intended. "I'm just jetlagged. Are we about done here?" 

He nodded, watching me with an expression bordering closely on cautious, which I found odd. "Yes, everything's been pretty much covered." 

"Great," I said and grabbed my jacket off the back of a chair. "I'm starving. You want me to go pick up some stuff..?" 

Kurt, perched nearby on the back of another chair, waved a hand. "_Nein_, Robert," he said. "I personally intend to go out and have something to eat in a restaurant with central heating." 

"All that blue fur and you're still cold?" I asked, sauntering across the room to where Jono was moodily examining a magazine containing an interview with Ashbury. "Amazing." I tapped Jonothon on the shoulder. He looked up, face a bit startled. 

*Wot?* 

"Hungry." 

*Good fer you.* 

"I have no idea where I am. You're my native guide!" I smiled broadly, hyper-aware that everyone was watching us and pretending not to. What was supposed to be casual was starting to feel like a grotesque piece of drama. 

For a moment I thought he was going to tell me to 'sod off' and therefore give everyone in the room reason to think the happy couple were fighting, but he shrugged and put down the magazine instead. *Roit. Come on.* He strode across the room without glancing around and I followed, wishing _some_body would talk. 

Went up the stairs and out the back entrance and was promptly drenched by the torrential downpour England calls weather. 

"Ahhh, shit," I muttered, hunching my shoulders. Jono seemed not to notice the rain in the slightest. 

*Wotcher want?* He asked as we walked down the street, me ducking under any awning that presented itself. 

I glanced around, water dripping into my eyes and making everything blurry. Made out the familiar sign of the Golden Arches. 

"Thank you, Ronald," I muttered and pointed at the restaurant. "I was afraid I'd have to choke down steak and kidney pie or something equally revolting." 

Jonothon rolled his eyes at me, insulted on behalf of every English person that ever lived, but he got the door for me anyway. 

The McDonald's smelt of grease and wet clothes, which wasn't exactly an appetizing combination. Luckily I have the stomach of steel, so I didn't lose my appetite and was able to order a couple of Big Macs. Mmm. My arteries hate me, but I figure if I drop dead from a heart attack in the middle of fighting Magneto it'll make a great punchline. 

Settled into an achingly bright yellow booth and dug in while Jono watched me with decided apathy. After devouring one of the burgers I flicked the paper wrapper my straw had been sealed in at him. "Hey," I said. "You okay?" 

Jonothon shrugged. Sometimes I wish I'd fallen for a passionate, outspoken Italian or something. Then I remember how hairy all the Italian guys I've met have been. 

"Okay, fine. You're fine. That's great. Glad we had this little talk." I shoved some fries in my mouth before jabbing a finger at him. "Look, Jono, if you're having issues about Paige then we should clear them up _before_ the assignment, okay? That's all." 

*I can keep em separate from the'job,* Jono told me. 

My mouth felt oddly dry. I think Mc D's actually injects its fries with salt. 

"Great," I said and found I couldn't think of anything else to say. 

Jonothon watched me finish my meal, his head cocked at a slight angle like he was studying me. When I was finished and wiping my hands on a napkin he reached across the table and touched my forearm briefly. *Bobby,* he said. 

"Yeah?" 

*Don't worry.* 

I smiled woodenly. "I'm not." 

We spent the night sleeping on the world's most uncomfortable cots, and my dreams were filled with the sound of rain. I woke up with a stiff neck to the sound of Warren talking officiously on his cell phone. 

"Morning," Paige greeted me as I stumbled across the room. 

"Merghle," I replied. 

Paige was already dressed and ready to go by the looks of things. She had on a smart business suit and her long blonde hair was pulled back in a complicated knot for a more 'professional' look. She was even wearing her glasses. 

"Cute specs, Guthrie," a sleep-clogged voice declared. Jubilee. She yawned expansively and scratched lady-like at her stomach. "Hungry." I nodded in agreement. 

"Stacy and Jono went out to pick up breakfast," Paige told us. She frowned. "I really think Stacy ought to have worn a coat or… something." 

"Her asscheeks hangin' out?" Jubilee asked without much interest. I snickered and decided to go upstairs and use the bathroom before I died of ureic poisoning. 

By the time I got back downstairs Jono and Stacy had returned with a collection of fresh, hot pastries. "I would have brought coffee," Stacy explained as I devoured my share of the food, "but Mr. UK-Idol here insisted on tea." 

Jonothon favoured Stacy with a snotty look and handed me a Styrofoam cup. I sipped it experimentally and found it hot, sweet and strong. "Thanks," I said and Jono nodded. 

*Five sugars, like usual,* he said nonchalantly. 

I noticed Jubilee was watching us and grinning around a mouthful of food. "What?" I asked, trying not to sound accusatory. 

"Nuffin'," she said and chewed, still smiling a little. "It's just bizarre to see you guys, you know, acting like a _couple_--" 

"Jubilee," Paige interrupted. I thought her voice sounded a little strained, but maybe that was just my imagination. 

"What?" Jubilee demanded. 

Paige shot a quick glance at Jono. "They're not… Look, we've just got more important things to discuss, alright?" Jubilee opened her mouth to protest but Paige plunged ahead. "Warren, is everything set up for the try-out this afternoon?" 

Stacy's crack about Jono being UK Idol was actually pretty close to the truth: Ashbury was holding a glorified talent contest in hopes of finding a new mutant act. The only requirement for entry was that you had to be able to prove you had the X-Factor, a detail that had caused a few human rights groups to protest loudly. However, Ashbury's people were claiming affirmative action so it didn't look like they'd get in trouble for discrimination. 

Me, I was hoping that mutants-only would mean a shorter line-up and less competition. After all, we had no guarantee that Jono would impress Ashbury. I mean, he impressed _me_, but I'm a CPA, not a rockstar. And as Jonothon pointed out, I still think the Beach Boys are cool. 

"Yes Paige," Warren replied after flipping his cell shut. "You and Jon just have to show up." He looked at Jono. "Are you ready for this? That is, do you have your material ready?" 

Material. Oh man, Warren, make him sound like a stand-up comedian. And you know, I can SO see Jono delivering one-liners to a roomful of laid-off drunks; _Didjer 'ear the one about the two fish in a tank? One says ter the other, "You drive. Oi'll man the guns!"_

Hyuk, hyuk, hyuk. 

*Yeah Worthington, don't worry yer pretty lil 'ead about me,* Jono said and waved a hand at Warren irately. Jubilee snickered, her mouth full again. Must take a lot of fuel to maintain that level of manic energy. 

"Hey," I asked suddenly as a thought occurred to me. Everyone paused and looked at me expectantly. "Is it still raining?" 

Everyone was quiet. 

"Drake?" Stacy asked, mock-sweetly. "Hear that drip-drip noise? That's puddle forming around your boyfriend's feet! Of COURSE it's still raining!" 

"Oh." 

Hm, yes, Jono was in fact soaking wet. Had a perfectly clear mental image of peeling wet jeans off his long, pale legs. Grinned stupidly and shoved another pastry into my mouth to hide it. 

Warren looked at me oddly and then turned back to Jono. "I'm not worried. I'm just making sure. A lot of this mission depends on your 'talent' here, after all." 

Jubilee grinned and bounced to Jonothon's side, slinging an arm about his waist. The look on Jonothon's face was _priceless_ - "I've grown a buzzing yellow tumour!" it seemed to say. 

"Warren, babes," Jubilee said. "Jono's gonna knock em dead." 

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps not the best choice of words," he said gently. With that happy little reminder, we finished the rest of our breakfast in relative silence. 

I was busy with Warren all morning, so I didn't see Jonothon again until nearly eleven. He was due to head out with Paige to this talent-scout thing and of course he was locked in the bathroom upstairs. I was recruited to tell him to hurry up. 

"Jono?" I hollered after banging on the door. "You're gonna be late!" No reply so I hammered on the door again. "Jon-" 

The door swung open and I nearly smacked him in the face. He gave me a withering look and moved past me. 

Me? I stared. Open-mouthed gawk kind of staring, like a hillbilly seeing his first UFO. 

Leatherleather_leather_! 

Black leather pants with these weird buckles going down the sides and these massive boots, also buckle-laden. Jesus, he must have gained thirty pounds in just metal. He had his long jacket slung over one shoulder and around his waist… 

"Muh," I said, and tried again. "Jono?" 

He stopped and turned, one eyebrow raised in question. Yeah, there was something definitely odd about that THING there… 

"What is that?" I asked, floundering a hand at the leather doohicky he was strapped into. 

*Wot? Oh, this?* He gestured. His arms were pale and bare and I wanted to nibble them. *S'a corset.* 

Ah. Knew I'd seem something like it before. Emma. No boob-cups on Jono's, though. 

*Well, really more of a waist-cincher, I s'pose,* he was saying. I walked towards him and put a hand on the garment in question. 

Leather. Oooh. 

Looked up after a moment and found myself staring into a pair of highly amused brown eyes. This time said eyes were rimmed with smudgy charcoal stuff. 

It occurred to me I hadn't had any Jono-time since we'd left the States, and I wasn't likely to get any in the near future if all went as planned. 

So I slipped my arms around him and pulled him to me. 

*Thought I was goin' ter be late?* Jonothon asked, dropping his coat to the floor. 

"Yeah," I admitted and refused to let go when he moved a bit. Jonothon hooked his arms around my neck and nuzzled close. Drunk on contact, I turned my head and kissed the side of his face, his ear, squirming lower so I could kiss the leather around his neck until I reached his shoulder, which I bit. 

*I gorra go,* he reminded me gently. I looked up at him. 

"Now?" 

*Yeah.* 

I blew hair out my face with an irritated snort. "Yeah, okay." Disentangled myself from him reluctantly, figuring we'd better stop the cuddling before Warren or Paige decided to check on us. Hugged him again, feeling a weird knot tie itself in my solar plexus at the thought of Paige. "Good luck," I said. 

*Thanks.* He picked his jacket up and slung it back over his shoulder. He smiled at me over his shoulder before he descended the stairs and for some reason it hurt to smile back. 

I spent the rest of the day driving Warren crazy. 

Warren and I had absolutely nothing to do besides sit in the base and wait for Jubilee or Stacy to report in, or for Jono and Paige to return with news of the audition. Kurt stayed surprisingly busy - he said he was gathering information but I think he was really just calling up old contacts and gabbing to them for kicks. 

That left Warren and me alone in a basement on a rainy day together. We played cards for a while, and Warren read the business section of the London Times while I read the funnies and attempted the crossword puzzle. (I gave up on "belching with the taste of undigested meat." It started with an N. I dunno.) 

But after a few hours I got bored. Really, really bored. 

"Stop it," Warren growled, not looking up from the magazine he was reading. 

"Stop what?" I answered mildly. My finger hovered about half an inch away from the side of his face at eye-level. 

"Bobby," he said threateningly. 

"I'm not touching you," I replied. 

"And you'd better not!" he snapped suddenly, slamming his magazine on the table and turning to look at me. He would have gotten poked in the eye if I hadn't dropped my hand out of shock. 

He stared at me and I stared at him. Then Warren put one hand to his temple and looked down. When he looked back up his face was pinched. "Bobby, I'm sorry," he said. 

I didn't know what to say, because I wasn't sure why he was apologizing. Was he saying he was sorry for snapping at me for being my usual childish self… or was it more to do with the words themselves? I mentally repeated it to myself and decided that I could definitely choose to take it the wrong way. 

I didn't want to do that. 

"Hey, no problem," I said, shrugging lightly. "I'm just, you know, bored. Didn't realize it was _that_ annoying." 

Warren looked away again. _Please don't talk about it,_ I begged him mentally. _Just drop it._

"Look," Warren said, sounding profoundly uncomfortable. "Bobby, I… Okay. You'll always be one of my best friends, you know that I hope." He shifted in his seat and finally managed to look at me. "Just… are you sure you know what you're doing?" 

"Warren, why does this have to be the ONE time you talk about your feelings?" I muttered. I sighed and slumped back in my chair. "Yes, Warren, I'm perfectly aware of what I'm doing. I'm making myself happy for once." 

"Happy?" Warren asked, eyebrows shooting into the stratosphere. "With Jonothon? Bobby, I know you haven't had the best relationships in the past but surely you can't compare what you have with the kid to what you had with, say, Lorna." 

Great. Warren Worthington the Third: Relationship Counselor. I'm in a parallel dimension run by Satan. 

"What Lorna and I had was different." 

Warren nodded. "Obviously." 

I glared at him, then. "What is it that bugs you about this situation, huh?" 

Warren's wings rustled nervously. "Well, he just doesn't seem like your _type_. And he's almost ten years your junior, you know." 

"Seven," I corrected, wishing for that ever-popular hole in the ground to open up and swallow me whole. Warren raised an eyebrow at me as if that proved his point. "Okay, fine, so there's an age thing!" I admitted. "That doesn't makes me some creepy cougar-guy." I paused. "Does it?" 

Before Warren could reply I shook my head. "No. Look, Warren… I really care about Jonothon. This is probably the best relationship I've ever had." 

If there were a picture for 'incredulous' in the dictionary, it would be of Warren's face when I said that. 

"I mean it!" I said. 

"But Bobby, what about Lorna? Or Opal?" 

I was sensing a trend, here. 

"It's because it's a guy, isn't it?" I asked quietly. 

Warren slumped. "Yes." 

I stared at the table. "Nothing's changed," I said. "I'm still the same guy." 

"I know that," Warren said and sighed. "But it… it doesn't feel that way. I mean, Jesus, Bobby, we always thought you just didn't want to settle down. All those times we went out together and you were hitting on the waitresses? What the hell was that?" 

"I didn't want anyone to know," I said. It sounded lame. Felt lamer. "You guys are everything to me. I didn't want you to… you know. Hate me." 

"Are you sure-" 

I was abruptly furious. "Yes!" I shouted. Words, which seconds ago had seemed so hard to find, burst forth like pus from an open sore. "I like guys better, Warren. I always have. You wanna know something? When Lorna and I were together…? We never did it. Ever. I couldn't." 

Warren stared at me. I smiled hugely and threw my hands up in the air. "So there you go. If that was healthy, then I think I prefer dysfunctional. At least this way I get laid." 

Utter silence for a few moments. Then, "Is this just about the sex?" 

I banged my forehead on the table. 

"No, Warren," I replied with my nose pressed against the tabletop. "It's not, actually. In fact, since you asked, I'm in love with him. And I really, really wish everyone would stop acting like it's such a big deal because I'm afraid you're all going to make him skittish and he'll run away and leave me alone." 

I closed my eyes and just breathed for a while. At length I heard Warren clear his throat and I looked up. 

"Bobby," he said, obviously uncomfortable. "I'm sorry." 

What the hell. "S'okay," I said. "I understand. I just wish you would talked to me earlier of it was bothering you" 

Warren smiled a little. "You know me," he replied. "Keep it all inside." 

"Too true." I smiled back and things felt almost normal again. 

"Bobby?" 

"Yeah?" 

"When we were kids, I mean, we all changed together and… did you ever…?" 

"Let's not go there, Warren." 

I was taking a nap when Jono and Paige returned to base. I was having some sort of dream involving toast and Buddhist monks when I was awoken by a very excited, very damp Paige Guthrie shaking my shoulder. 

"Bobby!" she said, grinning ear to ear. "He did it! Mah lord, ya shoulda seen it!" She let go of me and stood there, waiting for my reaction. 

"Toast?" I said. 

Paige rolled her eyes at me. 

"Where's Jono?" I managed to ask, still shaking sleep from my brain. She pointed across the room where Jonothon was speaking to Warren. I climbed out of the chair I'd fallen asleep in, wincing as my back protested loudly. With Paige at my side, I walked over to the other two. 

"So," I asked, smiling. "How'd it go?" 

Jonothon turned to me; one hip cocked at an arrogant angle, and regarded me with smiling brown eyes. 

*Bloody fantastic,* he replied in his best 'I'm too cool to be excited' voice. I could tell that he was thrilled, however. 

"Yes!" I replied, laughing, and before I could stop myself I'd stepped forward and hugged him. 

_Oh shit,_ I thought as soon as I realized I now had my arms around him in front of people. _He's going to stand there and be awkward and--_

But I was wrong. Jonothon's arms went up around me and he hugged me back fiercely, nuzzling his face into my neck. 

*Thanks,* he murmured. 

"You're welcome," I replied, still smiling. 

Things were really getting underway. 

e-mail the author at decadentmazohyst@yahoo.ca or visit her website at www.yinepu.net 


	6. Chapter Three J

Chapter Three 

**One Angel Short of Heaven**

"I feel your anguish   
I feel your pain   
I feel your heartache, I must feel it again."   
-Rosetta Stone 

It was raining when I returned 'ome. 

We landed at London early in the morning, about three or so, and as we got off the jet the clouds opened up and water poured from the wound in the sky as if t'welcome me back. 

I was mostly in shock at actually being back on native soil, so I didn't pay much attention to everything goin' on around me. We set up base in the cellar of a fish'n'chips shop of all things, and Jubilee was promptly sent out fer coffee. Americans. 

Worthington and Kurt got everything set up quickly, and soon enough Angel was after Stacy t'make sure she knew what she was doing. 

"Alright. So Stacy, you're clear on what you have to do?" he asked. 

"Don't worry your pretty little head about me," she replied with a smile. Warren nodded, and I could tell 'e was somewhat uncomfortable with 'er speakin' t'him like that. 

"If you run into any trouble," Kurt started, an' she shook 'er head. 

"I know, I know. I'll stay in contact so you know exactly what's going on." 

Warren started goin' over more o'the details, talking to Bobby at one point. Robert really didn't look like 'e was paying much attention, truth be told. Me, I buried meself in a magazine featurin' an interview with this Ashbury character and tried not to look at Paige. Failed on that last count pretty miserably. 

This Ashbury bloke was actually not that 'ard t'look at, I mused as I skimmed the glossy spread that accompanied the actual interview (which 'ad been written by some silly sod who obviously didn't know a thing about music). Long, dark hair and an absolutely devilish smile. As I stared at the pictures in the magazine, I felt a new determination t'give this stupid plan me best shot - it was like the bleedin' photograph was _daring_ me. 

Felt a tap on me shoulder and looked up t'find Drake lookin' at me expectantly. 

*Wot?* 

"Hungry," he said, like I should care. 

*Good fer you.* 

"I have no idea where I am. You're my native guide!" he said, grinning like the big bloody twit he is, his eyes a trifle frantic. I figured he must 'ave noticed everyone lookin' at us, too. 

Sod on em all. 

I shrugged, put the magazine down and stood. *Roit. Come on.* Left the room without lookin' back - mostly because I don't think I could 'ave handled wot I would've seen on their faces. 

It was raining, but it was the sort you can still go outside in. Robert, raised in sunnier climes, muttered "Aw, shit," and 'unched up like a turtle. 

*Wotcher want?* I asked as he ducked under every awning that presented itself like a gel that's just got 'er hair done. 

"Thank you, Ronald," 'e said after a quick look around and pointed at a McDonald's. "I was afraid I'd have to choke down steak and kidney pie or something equally revolting." 

Rolled me eyes at _that_ one. Ok, so England's not known for it's cuisine, this I can admit. But really, it's not _all_ inedible. O'course, I don't have t'eat anymore so wot would I know? 

Got the door and Bobby darted past me and got inter line and ordered an ungodly amount of greasy meat. Thought about tellin' 'im he might catch Mad Cow disease but decided against it when I realised he'd probably find that really funny and find a way t'make a public spectacle of the gag. 

When I first got me powers, I used to hate watching people eat. At first it was really just envy, and after that pure disgust. I mean really, 'ave yer ever actually _watched_ someone chew? It ain't pretty. These days I barely notice, although Robert is a noisy fucken eater. 

'E flicked his straw-wrapper at me after he'd consumed one of the grease-patties. "Hey," he said, sucking a sesame seed out of 'is teeth. "You okay?" 

Oh, wot a brilliant question. 

I shrugged. 

"Okay, fine. You're fine. That's great. Glad we had this little talk." Apparently unable to go one without more fuel, he crammed a load of chips in 'is mouth and pointed at me. "Look, Jono, if you're having issues about Paige then we should clear them up _before_ the assignment, okay? That's all." 

*I can keep em separate from the'job,* I replied. No sense in denying there were 'issues' between Paige and I - every time I looked at 'er I felt miserable, after all. However I was confident that once we were actually on the bloody mission I could ignore me feelings with relative ease. 

"Great," Bobby said, and went back t'his meal. Outwardly he seemed fine, but there was this general aura of unease clingin' t'him like a bad smell. His movements were a little too jerky, and he wiped 'is hands almost angrily on his napkin. 

'E was worried. About me, I suppose, which was rather touching even if it was ridiculous. I reached across the table and touched 'is forearm. *Bobby.* 

"Yeah?" Grudgingly hopeful. 

*Don't worry.* 

He smiled and I felt him pull away. "I'm not." 

I 'ardly slept at all that night, and the following morning I woke up when it was still dark. I lay there for a few minutes, starin' at the ceiling. I could feel a nervous tension uncoiling at the base of me skull and slithering down my spinal column. I wanted ter scream, but… 

Instead I got up, tryin' t'be quiet outta deference t'those still sleeping, and was surprised t'find Stacy crouching by the end of 'er cot. She was rootin' around in 'er bag with one hand. 

*Morning.* 

Stacy froze an' I saw her eyebrow twitch a little. Heh. She's awful fun t'sneak up on really, because she _hates_ bein' surprised. 

"Starsmore," she hissed. "Don't DO that." 

*Sorry,* I lied. She casually flipped me off and finished rummagin' about in 'er bag. She pulled out wot I assumed t'be a _clean_ pair of knickers and stood up. 

"I'm gonna shower," she whispered. "Hey, you wanna get breakfast when I'm done?" 

*You mean would I mind helping yer carry a bunch of food I'm not gonna eat?* 

"Yeah." 

*Sure.* 

Stacy snuck off and I sat down in one of the swivel chairs stationed at the far end of the room. From where I was sittin' I could watch Paige sleep, an activity I decided was not healthy. So I swiveled the chair and looked at the wall until I 'eard people wakin' up. Stacy appeared and we went t'leave after getting' breakfast orders from Worthington an' Kurt. 

Paige got up just as we heading out. 'Er hair was tousled and she was wearing some sort o'sleep-shirt that just barely came midway down 'er thighs. She was beautiful. She looked at me and I turned away, fast. 

Outside, in the rain, Stacy stomped through puddles in her high-heeled boots, glancing at me every few seconds. It was aggravating. 

*Wot?* I asked finally. 

"That blonde girl... Paige?" 

*Wot about 'er?* 

"You two had a thing?" 

I sighed mentally and shrugged. *I s'pose. Yeah.* 

Stacy nodded. We reached a bakery and Stacy and I went inside t'stand in line, so I figgered she'd drop it. 

"Hey," she said. The little old man ahead of us scowled over 'is shoulder at 'er. "You aren't gonna cheat on Icecube with Paigey, are you?" 

Oh for… Americans, I've noticed, have no sense of timing when it comes to discussing personal affairs. 

*Stacy,* I said. *That's really none of your business, now is it?* 

"No." She paused. "I notice you didn't say 'no.'" 

*Bugger this fer a lark,* I muttered and elbowed me way in front of the old codger ahead of us. *Sorry, guv,* I muttered when 'e squawked at me. 

"Bleedin' _kids_ terday," he grumbled, but didn't make any more fuss. Probably thought I'd steal 'is wallet. 

I placed me order and pointedly ignored Stacy when she whispered she wanted coffee. Ordered tea instead, mostly to spite her. She grumbled and tried t'get me t'talk a bit on the way back to base but I was stolidly deaf and mute. 

"I would have brought coffee," Stacy announced as the team, all of them now awake, dug inter the food we'd brought. "but Mr. UK-Idol here insisted on tea." 

I looked down me nose at 'er and handed Robert his tea. He'd obviously just woken up. 

"Thanks," he said. I nodded. 

*Five sugars, like usual,* I informed him so 'e wouldn't go dumping _more_ inter it. Robert needs caffeine and sugar t'wake up, but too much and he'd be bouncing around like, well, Jubilee. 

Speaking of which, the hyperactive firecracker was watchin' us as she shoveled food inter 'er face, smilin' the whole while. 

"What?" Bobby said accusingly. 

"Nuffin'," she said as she chewed. Disgusting. "It's just bizarre to see you guys, you know, acting like a _couple_--" 

"Jubilee," Paige broke in. All my thoughts of possibly drowning Jubilee in the toilet halted as I was hit with a sudden wash of _discomfort_. Not me own, either. I wondered idly if Paige knew she was projecting or not. 

"What?" Jubilee demanded. 

Paige looked at me, then. Meetin' her eyes caused a jolt t'run the entire length of me body. Then she looked away and I was left feeling nauseous, which is remarkable when you consider there's no way I could be sick. "They're not… Look, we've just got more important things to discuss, alright?" She turned t'Worthington. "Warren, is everything set up for the try-out this afternoon?" 

"Yes Paige," Warren replied after finally getting' off his bleedin' mobile. "You and Jon just have to show up." He looked at me. "Are you ready for this? That is, do you have your material ready?" 

Stone me. 

*Yeah Worthington, don't worry yer pretty lil 'ead about me,* I said, wavin' a hand at 'im. Jubilee snickered. 

"Hey," Bobby asked suddenly. Everyone paused and looked at 'im. "Is it still raining?" 

No, Robert, I decided to swim the English Channel. 

"Drake?" Stacy asked, sarcasm lacing the edge of 'er voice like a doily. "Hear that drip-drip noise? That's puddle forming around your boyfriend's feet! Of COURSE it's still raining!" 

"Oh." 

Was struck with a feeling of 'naughty thought' comin' from Robert's direction and resisted the urge to smack the silly grin off his face. Lucky fer him 'e crammed a pastry inter his gob before anybody else seemed t'notice. 

Warren looked at Bobby oddly and then turned back to me. "I'm not worried. I'm just making sure. A lot of this mission depends on your 'talent' here, after all." 

Suddenly, in a burst of manic yellow, Jubilee had bounced to my side, slingin' an around me waist. I was a trifle taken aback. 

"Warren, babes," Jubilee said. "Jono's gonna knock em dead." 

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps not the best choice of words," 'e said. That killed conversation pretty effectively, and everyone ate their breakfast in relative quiet. Thank god. 

After breakfast I took a walk by meself, tryin' t'get me thoughts in order. Didn't work. I gave up and returned t'the base where I was informed I'd better get ready fer me audition. 

Audition. Cattle-call. Wotever. Buncha hopefuls lined up in a desperate attempt t'impress Ashbury enough that he's take em on tour. As I locked meself in the bathroom I thought, _Well, let's get this fiasco over with._

I looked up then and caught sight of my reflection in the cracked and spotted mirror above the sink. 

As usual, I saw wot I _always_ see - a freakish, broken reminder of wot could have been. 

And then it occurred t'me that I had been right before; it would never be the same. But that didn't mean I couldn't _try_. Staring at my reflection I was filled with a twisted determination ter put on the best damn performance of me life. At least that way I could say that I'd faced the last of my old dreams bravely. 

Yeah. Punk rock, and all that. 

So I showered and got dressed. 

Black leather pants with buckles goin' down the sides an' a pair of buckled boots. Didn't bother with a shirt, as me bandages cover me upper torso well enough. After some deliberation, I put on me corset. 

Wot the hell - I feel bound up ninety-percent of the time anyway. May as well look like a bondage fetishist's wet dream. 

Just as I 'ad finished lacing it up there was a racket outside the bathroom door. 

"Jono?" 

Bobby. Hammering on the door like I was bloody deaf. 

"You're gonna be late! Jon-" 

Swung the door open and nearly clocked 'im in the face before movin' past him. Robert, with his usual tact and subtlety, stared open-mouthed at me. 

"Muh," he said. "Jono?" 

I stopped and turned, raisin' an eyebrow. 

"What is that?" he asked, floundering a hand at me waist. 

Oh. That. Yeah, I guess he'd never seen one on a bloke before. 

*Wot? Oh, this?* I gestured at it.*S'a corset.* Thought about it. *Well, really more of a waist-cincher, I s'pose.* 

Bobby was obviously not listenin' ter a word I was sayin', instead walking towards me and then puttin' one hand on me waist. He petted the leather absently, face completely rapt. 

Finally 'e looked up. Oh lord, I could not help but love the stupid look on 'is face. He blinked and then put 'is arms around me, pullin' me close. 

*Thought I was goin' ter be late?* I asked. Dropped the coat I'd been 'olding ter the floor. 

"Yeah," 'e admitted. I moved, but 'e didn't' let go so I wrapped me arms around 'is neck and nestled close t'him. God, it was good t'be held. Robert kissed the side of me face, me ear, lapping at leather until 'e had managed t'squirm his mouth into me shoulder. He bit me, and I felt my body want to respond. 

But there were prior engagements to consider. An' the fact that Warren was bound t'come lookin' for us if I didn't get downstairs soon. 

*I gorra go,* I said reluctantly. Bobby looked up at me and I really, _really_ wanted ter be able t'run late. 

"Now?" 

*Yeah.* 

He blew hair outta 'is face with an irritated snort. "Yeah, okay." We let go of each other and I picked up me jacket again, slinging it over one shoulder. "Good luck," he said. 

*Thanks.* 

Picked up me jacket and 'smiled' back at Bobby before goin' downstairs. 'Good luck, eh? I was hoping I wouldn't need it. 

"We're going to drown before we get inside," Paige complained as she tried in vain t'wipe raindrops off 'er glasses. 

We were waitin' outside the building Ashbury was holding 'is tryouts at. Wannabes were lined up for blocks, some huddling under awnings in a desperate attempt to keep their hair and makeup from melting. Paige and I were not lucky enough t'be under cover, and while I didn't mind she most certainly did not appreciate getting' soaked. 

She looked fantastic. Really, I had the hottest manager there. 

She shivered a little and I sighed. *Yanks,* I muttered and stripped off me jacket, holding it out t'her. She blinked at it behind 'er water-spotted glasses and took it slowly. 

"You sure?" she asked. 

*Yes.* 

She smiled cautiously. Paige and I, we never really 'ad a chance ter talk things out. It's not like we treated each other very well, and I always sorta regretted not bein' able t'explain meself. 

"Thanks." 

*Not a problem, sunshine.* 

I expected the wait ter last forever, but it was quite the opposite. Time seemed ter be sped up a pitch and before I even realised it was 'appening we were inside the building. It wasn't anythin' fancy - I think it used ter be some sort of packing plant, actually. Paige and I stood in a gray hallway together, a group of malnourished blokes with multicoloured hair in front o'us and a gel with three arms and the worst voice I've ever 'eard behind us. 

"If this is your competition," Paige whispered ter me, "I don't think we have much to worry about." 

Indeed. 

Wot seemed like seconds later, we were standin' in front of a squat metal door - the enrty ter the room where the actual auditions were takin' place. The malnourished punkers 'ad gone in about five minutes before and a short, efficient lookin' woman informed us that we were next. Paige thanked her and handed me jacket back ter me, fixin' her hair as bets she could. 

"You okay?" she asked quietly. 

Before I could formulate a reply that wouldn't 'ave made much sense anyway, the door swung open. A bloke of about forty with black 'air carefully scraped away from an angular face and tattoos swarming down 'is arms motioned us in. 

"Starsmore? You're up." 

We went in. 

The room was bare save for musical instruments and cables at one end of the room, and a handful of foldin' chairs at the other. Seated there were two men in suits, a woman with a clipboard, and Aleister Ashbury. 

'E was hunched forward, looking fer all the world like a leather-clad vulture. Paige approached him and introduced herself as me manager. 

"Have a seat," he said in a low, cigarette-roughened voice. Paige did, and he turned his eyes on me and smiled. 

Had a very sexy mouth, he did. 

"So come on, Jon," he said. "_Wow_ me." 

I noticed out of the corner of me eye that the band who'd been in prior to meself had not left yet - they were milling about by the door. I jerked a thumb at em. 

*Wot about them, then?* 

Ashbury smiled. "We let them stay if they want. To get a better idea of what they're up against. Does it bother you?" 

I shrugged. *Wotever.* Tossed me jacket aside and strapped on a guitar. Fiddled with it until it sounded right, doin' me level best t'ignore the people waiting for me t'begin. It was a horrid, nerve-wracking sensation. 

_Bugger it,_ I thought, and started ter play. 

We were allowed three songs only. I played two of my own - one I'd written years ago in a dirty flat in London where me mates 'ad been sprawled out on the floor, sleepin' off a wicked drunk. It was fast, defiant and angry fun. 

The second I'd written about four months before - just after I'd started seein Bobby but before we'd decided ter actually date. It was filled with a bruised self-loathing disguised as sexual appetite. 

The third was a cover of 'Some Kind of Stranger' by the Sisters of Mercy, which is a song I've loved violently since the first time I 'eard it. The lyrics are bitterly romantic an' they just speak ter me on some level I can't explain. 

As always, the second I concentrated on playing I sort of forgot about the people assembled and just put all me effort inter the music. Singing telepathically is strange, but while the mechanics are different the feeling is the same - you pour yer soul out for all ter see. 

I played well. Every damn note struck right home, and emotions twined like creeping vines through words, and _that_ was wot I used ter live for. As he final guitar chord petered out inter silence, I knew that no matter wot the outcome, I'd 'ave that at least: I played well. 

And then… applause. 

I blinked and looked around. Ashbury was walking across the room, clapping as he did so. He moved with the slinky arrogance of someone used ter bein' treated like royalty. 

"That," he said once 'e was about two feet away from me, "was _exactly_ what I was looking for. I ought to kiss you." 

*Gointer be 'ard t'do, mate,* I replied and twitched me bandages low fer a second so 'e could catch a glimpse of wot was under there. 

He laughed - a low raspy purr that made me think of nails dragged across pale backs. "Fair enough." He pointed at the door suddenly and I thought fer sure 'e was about ter tell me t'get out. "Look." 

I did. The band there was staring open mouthed at me. One clutched 'is heart absently, and another was breathing slowly, as if t'calm himself. 

"They _feel_ you," Ashbury whispered, leaning closer. "Your song, it pierces their hearts. Their emotions are _yours_." He straightened and said in a louder voice, "The search is bloody well finished. Jonothon, you must tour with me." 

He grinned at me, full, sensual lips splitting to reveal predatory teeth. "I insist." 

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Paige did most of the talking, thank god, because I dunno 'ow coherent I would 'ave been. I was high on me success and lovin' every second of it. 

Eventually we left. The bloke with the tattoos - Cecil, 'is name was - shook both Paige's hand and mine and told us we were ter be back the following day so Paige could go through a bunch of mind-numbing details about the tour. 

Ashbury watched me silently the whole time. Sometimes, if he caught me catching him, he'd smile. 

_Very_ sexy mouth. 

Paige and I walked quietly through the drizzling streets of London. When we were about halfway home Paige stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. I kept walking fer a few steps before realizing she wasn't beside me any longer. I turned around. 

She 'ad taken off her glasses and 'er careful hairdo was a bit amiss and just sopping wet. Her smart little suit was soaked, too. And there she was, standing against the gray backdrop of the city streets, bright and beautiful and smiling daffily. 

"Jono, you DID it!" she squealed when I gave 'er a questioning glance. "Mah God, that was incredible! I thought I was gonna cry for a while there…" She moved forward quickly and before I knew wot she was about she'd wrapped her arms around me. 

"Ah never knew you could do that," she said. 

I was suddenly and uncomfortably aware of the state of Paige's emotions. I knew that all I 'ad ter do was put my arms around her and actually _talk_ ter her and we'd 'ave a chance at salvaging wotever it was that was once between us. 

The rain whispered promises to me. 

I closed me eyes, wishing I could inhale the scent of 'er hair, and when I did an image came inter sharp focus in me mind: Bobby, sittin' on the floor of me room with a twinkie, lookin' up at me expectantly like 'e does when he figures he's said something funny and yer supposed t'laugh. 

Bloody twit. 

I opened me eyes and gave Paige a very brief hug before stepping away from 'er. She looked a trifle embarrassed and I felt regret needling me - I wasn't goin' ter get another chance. 

"Anyway," she said. "You were amazing. And this is great - the mission can go exactly as planned, now. We'd better get back to base and tell Warren and the others." 

*Yeah.* 

We started walking again, neither of us wanting to speak. When the base came inter sight Paige slowed a little and looked at me. 

"Jono, I… I have to ask. You and Bobby. I mean…?" 

Oh Paige, it doesn't make sense to me either. 

*Would it make you 'appy if I told yer it was just a sex thing?* I asked, a little more sharply than I'd meant to. 

"No," she said, and her eyes were both hurt and defiant. "Look, I'm not going to lie - the idea of you and _Bobby Drake_ of all people is not exactly easy for me to accept. But for whatever stupid reason, I still care about you, Jono. And no matter what I may think of your relationships, all that really matters is that you're happy." Her gaze softened. "So, are you?" 

I sighed. *Yes.* 

She smiled a little. "Then I am happy for you. And that's all I'm going to say, because I don't think either of us is comfortable talking about it." 

I nodded, a huge surge of relief sweeping over me. *Thanks, sunshine.* 

"Let's get back to base," she said. "I'm drowning, here." 

Warren greeted us at th'door when we got back. "Well?" he asked. Paige grinned widely. 

"We're in," she told him. "Ashbury _loved_ him." She then walked over ter the chair Robert was currently snoring away in. 

Warren turned ter me and smiled. There was something a little different about the way 'e was lookin' at me. "Good work, Chamber," he said. The words felt genuine and I decided maybe 'e wasn't as bad as I thought sometimes. 

*Thanks. T'be honest, I didn't think this was goin' ter work.* 

He nodded. "Well, I'm glad it did. Now just remember to keep your focus on the mission." 

Wot was _that_ supposed ter mean? I was about t'ask when Bobby and Paige joined us. 

"So," Bobby asked, smiling. "How'd it go?" 

I turned ter him, smiling back in me own peculiar way. 

*Bloody fantastic,* I said as coolly as possible. 

"Yes!" he shouted and threw 'is arms around me. He was so _happy_ for me - not just because I'd succeeded in furthering the mission, but because he knew how much me silly dreams meant ter me. 

So I hugged him back. And all I said was, *Thanks.* 

"You're welcome," 'e replied. 

Well. The hard part was over with. 

e-mail the author at decadentmazohyst@yahoo.ca 


	7. Chapter Four B

Chapter Four   
Some Kind of Stranger 

"Come here I think you're beautiful   
I think you're beautiful   
Some kind of stranger come inside."   
- the Sisters of Mercy 

I had no idea what I was doing. 

This in itself wasn't unusual, and years of practice mad it easy enough for me to pretend that I wasn't entirely incompetent long enough to figure out in a vague sort of way what it was people _thought_ I should be doing. Lugging equipment, mostly, although there was a scary moment where I was expected to _plug things in._ Luckily I managed to enlist the help of a kid who was obviously underage and in bad need of some Ritalin and everything got set up properly. I think. Well, nobody complained anyway. 

Getting myself employed as a roadie had been easy enough - I think Paige pulled a few strings to make sure I was hired. The hard part was going to be pretending that I didn't know Jonothon. 

Not that I was going to see him much, I mused as I hauled some ridiculously heavy cable across the stage we were setting up for Jono's inaugural concert. That was what was really bugging me, as selfish as it sounds. No Jono for Bobby. 

Roit then, he'd said the night after the announcement that Ashbury wanted him. Guess I'll be seeing you around. 

"Yeah," I'd replied. We had been sitting on my cot. Everyone else wasn't far away - they were loosely gathered around the table, playing cards and talking. Not exactly private enough for me to coax some affection out of him. You know, to tide me over. 

Jonothon had leaned closer. Remember, you don't know me. Especially not in the Biblical sense, awright? 

I'd smiled. "Mmm. Sodom." 

He'd laughed at that. All night long he'd been in unusually good humour, which I guess wasn't surprising - if I'd realized one of my oldest dreams, I'd probably be euphoric too. 

Seriously. 

I'd nodded. "Yeah, I know. I'll try not to ogle you or anything if I happen to see you." 

He smiled at me. _That's_ okay, just so long as everyone thinks yer lust is unrequited, 

I _hate_ unrequited lust. 

"Hey," the underage kid said, snapping me out of my daze. He pushed his black, square-framed glasses up on his nose. I noticed he was, for whatever reason, wearing a bracelet made entirely out of paperclips. 

"Yeah?" I said stupidly. 

He grinned a little and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Rick was calling you," he said. "You _are_ Robbie, right?" He sounded American, so despite the fact that he was probably younger than Jono, I automatically felt more comfortable with him than I did with any of the other guys padding around backstage. Yankees against the redcoats, I guess. 

"Yeah, that's me. Guess I wasn't paying attention." 

He nodded vigorously enough that his glasses slid down again. "I know how that is." 

I trotted over to Rick, a balding bulk of a man whose forearms were covered with a multitude of scars. He claimed Keith Richards had given one of them to him before the Stones were famous, but I doubted it. 

_Keep it together, 'Robbie',_ I thought as I was brusquely chastised for slacking on the job. _Things will be back to normal soon enough._

I got to watch the concert from backstage. 

I could peek out from around heavy curtain and bunches of wires and see the crowd - initially a great, tight knot of youthful apathy. I could just barely make out Jonothon's face, mask-like at first but opening as soon as he started to play. I had never seen him look quite like that; he had an expression that transcended mere happiness and was something very close to rapture. It brought tears to my eyes, which I quickly swiped away. 

But in a way, it was horrible. Horrible because it wasn't something between _us_ now; I could no longer carry the secret glee of being the only one to have his 'voice' singing through my head. He was out there on stage playing the emotions of the crowd, of hundreds of strangers, as well as he played his guitar. 

That was the other thing I tried to paid attention to: the crowd. When he came onstage they were bleakly hostile towards Jonothon as only teenagers can be towards something untried and suspect. But the second he started singing, they were his. I could actually see their expressions change according to whatever emotion Jono was projecting. 

It was sort of creepy, really. 

If Jono was sort of creepy, though, then Ashbury was super-duper disturbing-creepy. I don't know what it was exactly, but the way he prowled on stage reminded me of the Big Bad Wolf in the fairy story. 

He grinned at the crowd and I thought, _What big teeth you have, Grandma._

The crowd loved him, which I guess makes sense, as they wouldn't have bought tickets to his show otherwise. Deductive reasoning is my forte. The kids in the crowd acted like a motley bunch of teenagers rebelling against authority, slamming into each other and staring worshipfully at the stage. 

In other words... nothing unusual at all. 

_Damn_, I thought. I mean, it wasn't like I'd expected Ashbury to whip out a hypno-disk and start chanting, "You are getting sleeeeeeeeepy… kill yourselves!" but so far there didn't seem to be anything sinister going on at all, aside from the expression on Ashbury's face as he tromped offstage after the show. That expression clearly said, "I've gotten away with something _nasty_." 

I decided right about then that I hated Aleister Ashbury. 

Touring sucks. I mean, maybe it's more fun for the rock stars, who get to drive around in limousines and drink champagne and trash hotel rooms and hang out with groupies, but for the grunts who have to pack everything up, move it, unpack it, set it all up again… yeah. 

Touring sucks. 

Ashbury played three concerts in London in the span of six days, and then went on to Manchester. From there we traveled to Glasgow for a show. By this point I had pretty much figured out what it was I was supposed to be doing, so that made life a little easier. I checked in daily with Kurt and Warren, and spent my free time hanging out with as many of the other roadies that could stand me in an attempt to discover if they'd ever noticed anything unusual about Ashbury. 

In Glasgow, I was hanging out with the American kid outside the arena we were supposed to be setting up - we both claimed to be on cigarette breaks even though neither of us smoked - when I spotted Jubilee. 

She was kind of hard to miss, really. She had on this bright yellow sparkly jacket that pretty much screamed "pay attention to me!" while her makeup was heavy, glittery and could be spotted almost as far away as her jacket. 

I excused myself and wandered over towards her. "Hey missy," I said in my best "yeah, I work here," voice. "You're not allowed back here. Lineup's round the front." 

She pouted. I was nearly blinded by the gloss on her lips. Yowza. 

"Come on, mister, I wanna see the band when they show up! Pleeeeease? Can't I just wait here and see the tour bus?" 

"Sorry, nope." I was peripherally aware of some of the other guys lugging shit into the arena giving us no more than a passing glance; we had to chase groupie-types away from the rear entrances pretty regularly. 

I lowered my voice. "Hey, Jubes." 

"Ice cube," she shot back, and snapped her gum. 

"Still no luck, eh?" 

She shook her head, probably looking like she was stubbornly refusing to leave. "You neither, I hear." 

"Nope. Heard from Stacy?" 

"Yeah. She's in. Warren and Kurt just got the bulletin this morning, I guess." 

I nodded. "Well, good luck." 

"Ditto. You hear from Jono?" 

I felt my chest constrict. "No. Only Paige, via head-command." 

She nodded. "I thought maybe he'd brain-speak to ya." She shrugged and abruptly lapsed back into character. "Come ON, mister! I'll like, make it worth your while." 

I tried not to grimace at the thought, and heard raucous laughter emit form a group of passing roadies. "Yeah, give it t'her, Robbie!" one of them shouted. 

Touring really sucks. 

I did get Jubilee backstage, though. Everyone figured she gave me head, the American kid informed me. It was then generally assumed that I had a fetish for underage Asian girls and while we were dismantling the stage that night I found someone had left an issue of "AZN Schoolgirl Sluts" on top of the speakers I was supposed to be moving. 

"Thanks, guys," I muttered to nobody in particular. 

I missed Jonothon. Badly. And what Jubilee has said about how she'd thought he might have stayed in telepathic contact with me bothered me. Warren had relayed in one of the briefings that Paige said that Jono suspected Ashbury's mutant powers to be of a psionic nature, so maybe he was just making sure he wasn't discovered. Which, of course, was really smart. 

But it didn't' change the fact that I still wished he'd _talk_ to me, if only for a second. 

It was worse because I got to see him. Performing, hanging out backstage before he went on, being bustled into a tour bus full of groupies. 

It occurred to me as I lugged the speaker and "AZN Schoolgirl Sluts" that there was a possibility Jonothon was fucking aforementioned groupies. 

For some reason, I hadn't thought of that before and I stopped in my tracks, nearly dropping the heavy speaker on my feet. 

Jonothon was never one to talk much about his life before his powers manifested, but I remembered with sudden, sickening clarity a conversation we'd had one obscenely early morning where he had confessed that he'd been "a rather shoddy" boyfriend. 

I loved Gayle, he'd told me. But I wasn't exactly... faithful. They didn't mean anything ter me, emotionally, but that doesn't change the fact of wot I done now does it? 

I decided I _had_ to see him. 

Jonothon was staying on the 14th floor of the hotel the band was checked into in Glasgow, just down the hall from the Big Bad Wolf. I knew that my being spotted by any of the band members or assorted hangers-on would be most certainly suspicious. I knew that arousing suspicion could very well result in me blowing the entire mission. I knew that sneaking up to Jonothon's room in the dead of night was, in fact, the height of stupidity, 

So of course I went ahead and did it. 

I just walked past the night clerk - he didn't even look up for his television set. Can't say I blame him for being inattentive since it _was_ 2:30 in the morning. 

The 14th floor was unusually dark and I soon saw that this was because someone had broken one of the overhead lights, quite possibly the guy who was passed out in the hallway. I recognized him as Ashbury's drummer as I gingerly stepped over his legs. 

1413. I knocked quietly, praying he would answer. I was about to knock again, keeping one eye on the comatose drummer, when the door opened. 

He was just in pants - even his feet were bare. His hair was tousled and his eyes were kohl-smudged and overbright. He blinked once before growling, Get in 'ere, you bloody nit, and grabbing me by the shirt to yank me over the threshold. 

"Why Jono, this is so sudden," I said as I tried to avoid tripping over my own two feet. Jonothon didn't bother with the witty comeback, opting instead to close the door before grabbing me roughly and pulling me to him. His hands - those tapered, talented hands - wound themselves through my hair even as his hips jerked and ground his groin against mine. 

He paused a moment and dragged the fingertips of one hand across my cheek and down to my mouth to trace the contours of my lips. I parted them obligingly and he slipped his index finger into my mouth. I sucked at it, running my tongue along cool, calloused flesh. Not quite living, not quite dead - he always tasted a little like Edgar Allan Poe's wet dreams. I tried to meet his eyes with mine, partially so I could dispel my sudden "Oh my god, I'm a necrophiliac!" feelings, but he kept looking away. 

Finally I brought my hands up and pulled his fingers away from me, mostly because it was getting very hard to think straight. 

"I guess you missed me, too," I sad quietly. 

He didn't answer, but slowly and languidly wrapped his arms around me and leaned against me, burying his face in the hollow of my shoulder. I hugged him back tightly, inhaling his scent and wishing I never had to let him go. 

Get yer clothes off, he said. 

He didn't have to ask me twice. While I stripped clumsily he rummaged around in one of his bags until he found a bottle of lubricant, which he put on the bedside table. I wondered if there was a Gideon Bible inside the drawer, or if those were only in American hotels. I toyed briefly with asking Jono to open the drawer and check - we could open it up to Leviticus and put the lube on top of it or something. I figured if Kurt ever found out he'd have a fit, but that somehow made the idea even _more_ appealing to me. 

Then Jonothon was wrapping himself around me again and I forgot to wonder. 

I licked and sucked greedily at as much skin as I could reach as he rolled his head back and reached one hand down between us to stroke my cock, hard and fast and urgent. 

I bit him on the shoulder, panting shallowly, and my hands went to the fly of his pants. I could feel him urging me on in some weird, non-verbal telepathic way and could feel, in a more immediate sense, his erection straining at the fabric of his jeans. We managed to get his pants off, him stumbling and landing on the bed. Almost immediately he was pulling me on top of him, nuzzling me and groping me and rubbing his body against mine. 

"Jesus, Jono," I murmured. I felt like I could probably pound nails into the wall without a hammer. 

He pushed me back a bit and gestured to the table, his smoky eyes downcast. God, that looked sexy. 

Stop oglin' and fuck me, he said after a second. I think he was having problems articulating words. 

I slid off him, an action with all sorts of fun sensations in itself, and fumbled for the bedside table. When I turned back he was on the bed on all fours, his head hanging down. Between the angle of his shoulder and his hair, I couldn't see his face. 

I faltered suddenly. "Jono?" 

His upper body slid down with sensual grace until his arms were resting on the bed. He had his face pressed against the coverlet, and I thought, 'Gee, can't breathe like that…' before realizing what it was I was thinking. 

I could feel him reaching out to me; lust was sizzling at the base of my skull. He looked so good, and I hadn't even been able to _talk_ to him for what felt like ages… when he wasn't there, I felt like I was missing a limb or something. 

I felt a mental twitching, a 'come here' gesture that was not conveyed with words or actions, and I practically threw myself at him. I almost knocked him over, actually. I mouthed my way across his back, clumsily positioning myself behind him as I did so. Those non-verbal telepathic urgings were back, and it was hard to _see_, let alone think clearly, as I spread lubricant on my hand. 

When I slid a finger inside him, there was what I can only describe as a high-pitched whine that cut right through the lobes of my brain. I felt like my eyeballs were going to bleed at the same time I was going to shoot my load before we even got started. 

"Agh," I said. The sensation quit immediately, replaced instead with molten mental fingers soothing the sore places. 

I removed my finger and bent, slowly, so I could kiss his back. Softly, softly, with none of the brain-melting lust I was feeling. I tried to sear the taste of his flesh into my memory as I moved my hand over my erection, coating it with lube. I straightened up again; aware I was shaking, and slid forward and into him. 

Hot, damp silk. Ridiculously hot, and tight and just... yeah. I groaned aloud and started thrusting, trying to control my pace. _Trying_. 

Harder, Jonothon demanded. He was trembling, his hips jerking almost frantically and one hand on his cock, pumping quickly. My mouth was completely dry, hanging open to scoop air in great lungfuls. I complied, sweaty and mindless and aware only of the feel of myself inside him and the thrumming static-electricity that was pervading the air. 

It was like being on a toboggan that had been rigged up with a freaking jet-pack - I sped towards the end, completely unable to control myself. Jonothon was no better; incapable of anything resembling speech, he just bucked beneath me and seemed to pull directly at my hips with hands that weren't there. When he came I _felt_ it, and for a moment I thought he'd flash-fried my brain, wiping out all my thought-processes with the tidal wave of orgasm. It would have hurt if it hadn't been so good. The sensation was overwhelming enough that I came a moment behind him and then just froze, shaking. I had to remind myself to breathe. 

I'm really not sure how long we stayed like that - probably just a few seconds, but it felt much longer. I pulled out and away, my limbs like rubber. I sat on the edge of the bed, just breathing in and out, in and out… 

Bugger, Jonothon said at length and sat next to me. I looked up and saw that portions of his bandages had burned away and there were scorch marks on the coverlet. I kept breathing. In, out. In… 

He placed a hand on my arm. It was hot, too hot, and I dropped my body temperature. You alright? he asked worriedly. 

I took in one last deep breath and exhaled slowly. I looked at him, failing miserably in my attempt not to grin ear to ear. "Uh, wow," I said. 

For a moment he looked strange and I thought to myself, _something is seriously wrong with this picture_. Then he laughed, almost hysterically and clapped a hand over his eyes. 

'Uh, wow,' he repeated. 'Wow.' Yeah, yeah... that most certainly qualifies as a fucken wow, I think. Too roit. He giggled, an event a little surreal truth be told, and took his hand away from his face and looked me in the eye for the first time since I'd shown up at his room. 

You'd better get out of here. 

I nodded and got up, going to the bathroom to grab a towel. I looked behind me and saw him on the edge of the bed, looking off into a corner, and I thought again, _something is wrong._

I just didn't know what. 

Edinburgh. 

I was unloading a bunch of crap near the tour bus, wondering why Scotland had to have weather that was just as crappy as England's, when Jono walked by. 

He didn't see me - he had his head down in that 'piss off' sort of way he has. His shirt was rumpled and his hair a mess, like he'd just rolled out of bed. 

I opened my mouth to say something in spite of the "we don't know each other" pretense, but at that moment I heard someone at the bus door. I turned and saw Ashbury, languidly leaning against the exit. "See you tonight, Jon," he called after Jono, and smiled. 

You know how people say stuff like, "my heart went cold"? Well, mine didn't. Maybe because, you know, I'm awfully used to that sort of sensation. It did feel, however, like it was an elevator that had just dropped about, oh, twenty floors. 

_Holy crap, they did it!_ I thought. It was that smile - Ashbury looked more than ever like the Big bad Wolf and his eyes were all over Jono's retreating ass. _They fucking DID IT and I thought he was supposed to be yours!_

I ducked behind the crap I was supposed to be unloading and tried to breathe. It was kinda hard. _Guess you know what's wrong now, huh, genius?_

It hurt. It hurt so badly that I wanted to say 'screw the mission' and crawl back to the base and let somebody capable handle everything. Paige, maybe. Or Warren. Or Kurt. Hell, even Stacey. Just let them deal with it while I curled up on a cot and wished that people would stop leaving me for bigger and better things. 

But, no. It was time to act like a responsible adult. And more importantly, if I curled up on a cot somewhere I would miss my opportunity to punch Jono in the face backstage. 

After all, he had a concert to go to. 

My golden opportunity didn't come until later, but I certainly wasn't bored until it did. 

The concert started almost right on time, and Jono practically bludgeoned the crowd into awe. I was backstage, trying not to listen to him, but that's kind of hard when someone's voice is in your head. 

The last song he played, I know it wasn't his, but the words... they _ached_. I'd never heard, never _felt_, such anguish and such love so intertwined. 

It was hard to remember that I wanted to punch him, after that. 

About halfway into Ashbury's third song, I ran into Stacey backstage. We exchanged greetings once we were sure nobody was really paying any attention to us. 

"Hey," Stacey asked, her voice pitched low enough so that I had to strain to hear it. We _were_ at a rock concert, after all, and this one seemed particularly noisy. "You talked to your boy yet?" 

I shook my head. "No. But. I." I stopped and shrugged. "Ah, fuck it. Look, have you noticed him and Ashbury-" 

"Somebody call security!" I heard somebody yell. Stacey and I looked at each other in that stupid "huh? What?" way and then took off for the stage. I could hear Paige now, yelling for Stacey. Part of me was vaguely insulted she wasn't calling for _me_. 

"Stacey!" Paige cried as soon as we got near. "The crowd's gone nuts! Ah think it's Ashbury... look, you've got to calm down as many of em as possible! Jubilee'll back ya'll up, an' I already radioed Kurt - he's bamfing in to help, too. Go! Ah've got to help Jono…" Paige bolted onstage, and Stacey looked at me. 

"Go!" I repeated. "Pheremone the hell out of em, and try not to get beaten up!' I could see the crowd now and Paige was right - it was a madhouse. Stacye nodded and took off. 

I turned to jump onstage myself when a leather-clad figure slammed into me, almost knocking me down the stairs. Could have broken my neck. I noticed too late it was Ashbury, and took off after him with a muttered curse. 

I got lost. I have no idea how, but somehow I lost track of him. Thankfully I spotted another leather-clad and much more familiar figure bolting out the back door. I elected to follow. Duh. 

I stopped in the doorway, though. Jono had caught up to Ashbury and was advancing on him, spitting sparks every which-way. Ashbury, in spite of being cornered, still looked like HE was the wolf, and Jono the lamb. 

"'Rejection' my arse," Ashbury said to Jono, and grinned that horrible grin of his. "You wanted it. You wanted it so bad I'm surprised you didn't bust your fly open in anticipation." 

I felt something in my try to cry out and I held still. 

Jono stepped closer to Ashbury. Yeah, he said. But that's just sex, Ashbury. S'funny you haven't noticed wiv all yer manipulating, but there's more ter people than lust. More than despair. More than hate. He was so close - they looked like lovers. I felt ill. 

I could have 'ad you. But I'd rather 'ave more. 

Ashbury laughed, an ugly sound. Like coyotes barfing. "You'll never have more," he said. 

I have a Jewish accountant, Jonothon snarled. An' he's more than you'll EVER be ter me. And with that remark, Jonothon delivered a right-hook I'm more than a little familiar with. 

My heart leapt. I tried really, REALLY hard not to do so physically. 

Ashbury apparently didn't possess my hard head and went down like a ton of bricks. Jonothon looked at him for a moment and snorted. Tosser, he said. 

That did it. I let out what can best be described as a whoop of joy and thundered down the stairs to throw myself at him. He barely got turned around and I wound up slamming into him at an awkward angle that nearly knocked us both over. 

I hung onto him for a moment, and then stepped back a bit. "I'm supposed to punch you now," I said. 

Well, don't, he said. Radio Worthington and tell 'im ter get the authorities 'ere. Then kiss me. Anywhere. Anyhow. 

I nodded and grabbed my radio. Warren replied he was already en route and told me to keep an eye on Ashbury. I overed-and-outed and looked at Jono, who seemed a little lost all of a sudden. 

I iced up, wrapped my arms around him, and kissed him. I kissed his forehead, his eyelids, his cheek, the spot behind his ear that makes him squirm. Most of my shirt burnt up during this process, and we were generating a lot of steam, but that was okay. Jono stepped away, smiling his no-smile. 

"You okay?" I asked. 

Yeah. Now. 

Me too. 

Ashbury was taken into custody by a division of the UK police force especially designed to deal with mutant threats - Jonothon testified on the nature of Ashbury's powers and how he'd used them to harm human beings. I still don't understand it, but whatever. It was a win for the good guys, and that's all I care about. 

Paige and Jubilee decided to stick around the mansion for a bit. I was pretty happy about that, and Jono seemed pleased too. 

And Jono? Shockingly not depressed. Me and Stacey, we both sort of figured he'd get all mopey, but we were wrong. In some twisted way, I think the whole experience was good for him. 

I dropped in on him the other night and he was playing his guitar. Some old Stones' song. You know the one. 

I like it. 


	8. Chapter Four J

Chapter Four   
Some Kind of Stranger 

"All my words are secondhand and   
Useless in the face of this   
Rationale and rhyme and reason   
Pale beside a single kiss."   
- the Sisters of Mercy 

He was a living cliché. 

I mean, really, you think "rock star" and immediately wot comes ter mind is a bloke in leather trousers with too-long hair and a sort of lurking sexuality, doin' lines off a groupie's breast. 

An' that roit there pretty much sums up Aleister Ashbury. After the first gig in London he invited me ter come with 'im t'some sort of party that eventually wound up in his hotel room. Celebrities and half-naked women (girls, really) writhed every which-way; booze and pills and god-knows-wot-else were available to all and sundry, and Ashbury was at the center of it all, lounging on a leather sofa like a decadent king in a chaotic kingdom. 

I wanted to _be_ him. 

Speakin' of the gig... it was quite possibly the most fantastic moment of me life. 

I was eerily calm prior t'me first performance as Ashbury's opening act. Paige kept flitting about, but I 'ardly noticed her, or anyone else for that matter. I was at the center of the storm, just waiting. Perfectly serene as I took me place on stage, in the dark. It was only in the moments before the lights went up, lookin' out at the sea of anonymous faces bobbin' in the gloom that I felt something - a thick, anxious knot coiling at the base of me spine. My guts - wot's left of em - were leaden, hot and heavy, but my mind was remarkably clear and detached, and I thought t'meself: 'ere we go. 

And when I started ter play? 

Heh. All aboard the Express Kundalini. 

I remember sittin in Emma's office once with Monet for one of Emma's psi-training sessions. That particular day, Emma decided t'lecture us on wot she called 'the group mind.' 

She said that with crowds an' such, situations can arise when all their attention is focused on one object, provided it's something they feel emotional about. 

"When a person's emotions are stirred towards an object or person or what have you," Emma had said, "they pour out psionic energy. Whether they notice it consciously or not, this affects everyone nearby, especially if the others in the crowd are focused on the same object." She'd gone on ter say that this was why perfectly sane, normal people who under normal circumstances wouldn't hurt a fly can wind up part of a bloodthirsty mob. 

"Now, knowing this," Emma 'ad said and grinned a trifle evilly, "you of course realize that if you can influence the emotions and thoughts of the crowd before the inception of the Group Mind, you can control the entire herd." 

Then she and Monet 'ad sort of given me the "poor Jono with 'is shoddy telepathic skills" look and gone on ter some related topic. 

Standin' there on stage, I could feel the Group Mind as a sort of amorphous fog. An' when I started ter 'sing', I suddenly realized that Ashbury had been right - their emotions were _mine_. I could play em like I played me guitar if I wanted to. 

The question was... how far would I go with that? There's a difference between nudgin' someone's emotions and bloody mind-controlling 'em, after all, but when exactly do you cross the line? 

That question still plagued me as I watched Ashbury's drummer pick a groupie up over one shoulder and carry 'er, squealing, out of the room. I was so wrapped up in me own thoughts that I didn't notice that Ashbury 'ad slid off the couch and sat down next ter me until he whispered in me ear: "Thinking deep thoughts?" 

I couldn't help it - I jumped. He laughed at that and moved his head back, smiling. 

Naw, not really. 

Ashbury shook his head slowly. "You're a liar," he said, soundin' somewhat amused. "You're troubled, I can tell." 

I knew that he _could_ tell I was upset somehow, and denying it might arouse suspicion. I looked around and me eye landed on the group of girls getting' utterly wasted while the remaining band members circled em like hungry wolves. Ashbury followed my gaze and grinned. 

"Oi, you there!" he called ter a sweet looking blonde who was currently 'aving a hard time walking in high heels. He gestured an' she wobbled over, damn near collapsing onto Ashbury. He smiled and pushed her onto _me_. "This here is my good friend Jonothon," he told 'er, and she giggled. "He's my new opening act." 

She looked at me. "Oh, _wow_," she said. She had big blue eyes an' I was reminded uncomfortably of Paige as she squirmed in me lap. "Never 'eard anything like that before. You were incredible!" 

Ashbury was watching me. I could see him over the girl's shoulder. 

I had confessed t'Bobby once that while I was seeing Gayle I wasn't exactly faithful. I really did love that gel, and the others didn't mean anything ter me, but that didn't make it right. I look back at it now and wonder how I could have done it. I mean, I understand the whole hormonal urge thing, but what I can no longer understand is how casually I could treat real love like dirt. I was a different person then, I guess. 

Which is why, I suppose, I shoved the gel off me lap and onto the floor. She hit with a thud and an' 'ooof', and both she and Ashbury looked at me fer an explanation. I ignored the gel, starin' Ashbury in the eye instead. 

I don't fuck low-genes anymore, I said simply. Ashbury nodded slowly, and I could tell that he approved of me answer. 

I'll see you tomorrow, I said, standing up. This scene was too much to handle at the moment, and I left, trying not to think about Ashbury, Paige, or Bobby. 

Especially Bobby. 

London passed in a blur. Paige was there constantly; asking me if I'd figured out wot Ashbury was up to yet. I told her no, which was true. The only thing I was relatively sure of was that the man had some sort of psi ability, and I told Paige as much. I got the impression that HQ was getting' a bit impatient, and this added to my desire to avoid Paige as well as I could. I was afraid of facing questions I had no answers for. 

It was in Manchester that I got a bit of a surprise. I walked inter the dressing room an' was greeted with the sight of Stacy X lounging all over Ashbury's bassist, neither of em wearing a whole helluva lot. 

"Jonothon!" Ashbury greeted me warmly. "Lookit what we found, mate... a mutant groupie." He sidled up ter me and smiled. "She's all yours." 

Stacy grinned at me. "Hey, handsome," she said, sliding off the bassist and slinking over t'me. "After the show I was hopin' you could show a poor American girl around a little." 

I did my level best to remember how I used t'act towards such advances and casually threw an arm around her waist. We'll see about that, luv, I told her as the other members of the band cackled lewdly. 

Stacy and I did wind up retiring to my hotel room together as a matter of fact, although obviously not fer the reasons everyone thought. 

I think you impressed them, I told her as she collapsed onto the bed. 

"Yeah. It's amazing how popular you are when you can get a guy off with just your little finger." She lifted her head to look at me and grinned. "His bass player is like, in lust with me. 'You get backstage passes t'ALL the shows, luvvy!'" She snorted, and I reflected that her British accent, while horrible, was still better than Bobby's. 

"Hey, you keepin' in touch with your boyfriend?" 

You'd think SHE was the telepath. 

Not really, no. I shrugged. Too risky. 

She nodded. "I just figured, you know, since the band there said you won't fuck the groupies..." 

I shrugged again, highly uncomfortable. Not the human ones, anyway. Part of the homo-superior act, yer know? 

"Yeah, brilliant cover," she responded. "But it _is_ a cover. You wouldn't have made that up unless you didn't want to sleep with those girls for some reason. And I think that that reason has a tendency to wear really bad Hawaiian shirts." 

Look, let's just stay focused on the mission, awright? Bleedin' 'ell, I sounded like Worthington. 

"Fine." She sighed. "From what I hear from the band, Ashbury's some sort of telepath." 

Yeah, that's wot I figured out, too. Still not sure 'ow it works, mind, and I've yet t'catch him mind-controlling the audience. 

She sighed. "Brother, nothing's easy." 

Glasgow is where things went wrong. 

Stacy 'ad managed t'make herself part of the entourage, mostly because Ashbury's bassist really _was_ quite taken with her, or at least with 'er abilities. I found this very bloody amusing. 

During the Glasgow concert, I forced meself t'pay attention not t'the music or the scene or anything like that… I stood backstage and tried to remain unobtrusive as I did me level best to reach out telepathically and figure out wot, if anything, Ashbury was doing to the crowd. 

Nothing. I got absolutely nothing. In fact, I was starting t'curse me wretched talents as a psi in general when I suddenly realized that something 'ad changed. 

It was the Group Mind. We were about halfway through the concert, an' I suddenly realized that the thoughts and emotions of the audience 'ad somehow managed to coalesce into a bloody _sentient being_! 

And it was looking at me. 

Bugger. 

I stopped wot I was doing immediately and retreated t'the dressing room, shook up. I was so shook up I didn't notice there was anyone else there until a familiar voice said, "Sparky?" 

I looked up and saw Jubilee at the door. She shut it behind 'er and came over to me. "Bobby got me backstage," she explained. "Jeez, you okay? You look weird." 

I shook me 'ead. I'm fine. But I think I might finally be getting' close t'figuring out wot's goin' on here. 

Jubilee nodded. "Good. That's good." She scrutinized me carefully. "Are you REALLY okay, dude?" 

I told you, I'm fine, I snapped. 

"Okay, okay. I just ask cos Hayseed's worried about you. She says you're spending all your time with Ashbury." 

Isn't that wot I'm here t'do? I asked, annoyed. It's the bloody mission, innit? 

"Yeah, but she's worried that you're not thinking about the 'bloody mission,'" Jubilee retorted sharply. 

_Wot's that supposed t'mean?_ I thought for the second time. Instead I gestured at the door. You better get out of 'ere. Everyone knows I don't fuck human groupies. 

She stood. Her lips were very thin. "Yeah. Okay. Good luck, Jono." An' as she left, I think I heard her mutter, "Don't forget what you're here for." 

After the show, Ashbury spotted me backstage and head directly for me. _Shite_, I thought. _He knows._

"Jonothon," he said warmly, "come for a ride with us, eh?" I nodded, terrified mute. 

A few confused moments later and I was sittin' in a black stretch limo wiv Ashbury and a blonde groupie. The groupie was high on something, but I'll be damned if I know wot. 

"So, Jon," he said as the groupie explored the mini-bar. "Noticed you watching the show tonight." 

I nodded. Good performance, I offered, and he waved a hand dismissively. 

"You weren't watching me." 

Shite. 

No. 

He grinned at me. "Curious?" 

Very, I admitted. Ashbury leaned back, casually pushing the groupie over with one elbow. She squawked indignantly before goin' back t'emptying the miniature booze bottles. 

"The crowd, it's like they put out this... brain-fog. I can shape it into whatever I like, give it _life_." 'E sounded pretty fucken smug with himself as 'e told me this. "If that makes any sense." 

Sort of, I said, pretending t'understand less than I did. 

"I can tell it to do things. Y'know, like with telepathy. It affects the crowd how I instruct it to." 

He leaned close, so close that I could almost smell him. "It's like your 'voice'. Between the two of us, we could get anyone to do pretty much anything we wanted…" 

The groupie leaned back, her legs sprawling open and one hand going unabashedly t'Ashbury's thigh. I had a terrific view up her mini-skirt and could see quite clearly that the gel was not wearing any knickers. Classy. 

Ashbury noticed me gaze and grinned wolfishly. Very slowly and still watchin' me out of the corner of his eye, he leaned over and started kissing the gel's neck. She wriggled a bit, glossy lips parting. I looked out the window when I saw 'im stick a hand up her skirt. 

I made the mistake of looking back when I heard a zipper pull. The groupie was givin' Ashbury head... but he was looking at ME. I tried desperately t'appear nonchalant as his gaze pierced mine. 

Didn't quite work, I'm afraid. 

Ashbury pried her off of him and after some maneuvering got her on all fours. Facing me. Bloody hell. 

He slipped a rubber on and started fuckin' her, 'is hands on her hips. He thrust and she moved back and forth, moaning nonsense little whispers that meant nothing. Base lust was coming off of both of em, no affection whatsoever. I wanted ter be revolted, but couldn't. 

Still his eyes were on me, and I couldn't look away. 

I stumbled inter me room, dazed and almost sick with desire. Ashbury had dropped me at the hotel; he an' the groupie remaining in the limo t'speed to some unknown destination. As I'd gone ter climb out of the car he'd leaned over an' brushed a finger behind me ear. "Think about it," he said, 'is sensual lips barely moving. 

I peeled my shirt off and kicked my boots savagely across the room. Bloody well hard to think of anything _else_. Agitated, I threw me socks after me boots. I paced the room, noting that it was nearly 2:30 AM. Christ, how long 'ad we been in that fucken limo? 

His eyes, searing inter me as he moved. His lips, curling into barely-there promises. _"Between the two of us..._" 

There was a knock at the door. I opened it, half afraid (and half hopeful) that it would be Ashbury. It wasn't - it was Bobby. I could only stare fer a moment, positive I was seeing things. 

No, it was him. No hallucination would wear such an ugly shirt. Get in 'ere, you bloody nit, I snarled, and pulled him across the threshold. 

"Why Jono, this is so sudden," he said, nearly trippin' over his own two feet. I shut the door as fast as I could and grabbed him, acting almost exclusively on body impulse. Me hands twisted inter his hair and my lower half humped gracelessly. 

_Calm the fuck down, Starsmore_ I chided meself and paused, running the fingers of one hand down Bobby's cheekbone to trace the outline of his lips. Nice lips, perfect for kissing. 

But not sensual. Not wolfish. 

I slipped me index finger inter his mouth when 'e parted his lips, relishing the feel of tongue and teeth on skin. I found that I couldn't look in 'is eyes because my traitor mind kept whispering, "Think about it. Between the two of us… Think about it." 

Bobby pulled me hands away from him and said, softly, damningly, "I guess you missed me, too." 

I couldn't reply, but I couldn't let him leave either, so I wrapped me arms around him and let him hold me tight. 

Get yer clothes off, I said. 

While Bobby stripped quickly and clumsily, I dug through me bag fer the bottle of lube I remembered packin'. I put it on the bedside table and then went to Bobby, pulling him close so I didn't have to see his face. 'Is mouth fastened onto my skin as my neck rolled back an' I reached down between us t'grip his cock. I stroked him fast and with no gentleness or particular finesse, and he bit me shoulder. I wanted more of _that_, oh yes. 

'E got me trousers off, for which I was profoundly grateful really. In the process we stumbled, coming down on the bed. Dizzy with wanting, I grabbed Bobby and pulled him on top of me, writhing and nuzzling the tattered remains of me face against his neck, his shoulder. 

"Jesus, Jono," Bobby murmured. I pushed him back a bit and waved one hand at the table. I wasn't in the mood ter be admired, held, comforted or loved - I felt like if he didn't fuck me quick I was goin' ter explode. 

Bobby, prat that he is, was kinda just lookin' at me so after more effort than I care ter admit I managed ter say, Stop oglin' and fuck me. 

_That_ seemed t'get the point across. 

Bobby slid off of me and groped fer the bedside table - honestly I'm surprised he didn't knock it over. _That's Bobby for you,_ I thought and immediately felt something constrict where me heart no longer is. I looked away and instead got on all fours, head hanging down, staring at the coverlet. 

"Jono?" he asked, almost tentatively. I did not want t'feel his concern. I slid down and just buried my face in the bed. _Yer not the one I want right now,_ I thought. _But yer the one I'm with._ I was so turned on it fucken _hurt_ and I reached out instinctively with me mind to him, beggin' without words fer him to just take me already. _Come here,_ I thought, and a second later 'e did. Damn near bowled me over, actually, and I relaxed a little. He mouthed 'is way across me back, a hot bundle of lust that soothed me like a balm. I didn't want to think - just to feel. 

He slid a finger inside me and it felt so fucken good - I wanted ter moan and writhe and whine. I guess I did _some_thing because I could feel Bobby wince mentally and withdraw the digit. I soothed the sore spots as best I could and was rewarded when 'e kissed me back with scathing gentleness. Then 'e slid forward inter me. 

Wonderful. But not enough. I needed ter be fucked right proper - I could still not get the image of Ashbury's lips out of me head. I managed to force out one word, and one word only, to convey wot I wanted: Harder. 

Bobby complied as I bucked beneath him, jerking frantically on me cock with one hand. Now was not the time for subtlety, technique, romance, or any of that shite. This was raw and bestial and exactly wot I craved. I felt like I was burning alive, with fire runnin' through me veins and sparks in me head. I was mindless. 

Orgasm blotted out _everything_. I lost complete sense of who an' where I was for a moment, and could only lie there, wishing I was panting, when it was done. 

Bobby pulled out and sat on the edge of the bed, his breathin' uneven. I noticed then that somethin' was amiss - parts of my bandages 'ad seared away and scorched the bed. Bugger, I remarked, sittin' up as well. I had been driven ter the point where I was completely disregardful of physical danger and that scared me badly. Wot scared me more was that it hadn't been thinkin' about the man I was with that 'ad done it. 

Bobby was entirely silent, which was not usual fer him. I placed a hand on 'is arm. You alright? I asked, wonderin' if maybe I'd hurt him worse than I'd thought via the telepathic link between us. 

'E took a deep breath, exhaled, and then grinned like an idiot. "Uh, wow," he said. 

So much for me doing irreparable damage to 'im. I stared at im for a moment, at his open, ridiculous expression, and felt something clench in me chest again. Then I started ter laugh, because it was either do that or scream. 

'Uh, wow,' I repeated. 'Wow.' Yeah, yeah... that most certainly qualifies as a fucken wow, I think. Too roit. I giggled. I could 'ave killed us both and all he can say is 'wow.' I finally felt I could look 'im in the eyes, so I did. 

You'd better get out of here. 

Bobby nodded and got up ter go to the bathroom. I sat on the bed, starin' at a corner of the room, thinking about lips and sex and fame and potential. 

Edinburgh. 

I fell asleep on the tour bus and was woken by a husky voice whispering, "wakey-wakey" in me ear. I opened me eyes and found Ashbury leaning over me, grinning. The rest of the bus was empty already. 

Hi, I managed. 

"Hello," he replied. He hadn't moved away at all an' I got the feeling he 'ad no intention of doin' so. 

Where is everyone? That's right, ignore the hunger glitterin' in those eyes… 

"Gone." Ashbury moved forward so he was straddlin' me leg. I could dimly feel the press of 'is thigh against me own. 

Oh. Best we join them, eh? 

"No rush," Ashbury said and placed his hand on me stomach. He slid it upwards, stoppin' at the place me heart used ter be. I grabbed 'is hand and took it away. 

No. 

"I bet after it happened you felt like you'd lost everything," he whispered. "But you gained so much more." He leaned in and placed his lips against me ear again. "You're exquisite." 

I shoved him, _hard_, an' he landed with a thud on the floor of the bus. He looked shocked fer a minute, an' then his grin resurfaced. I stood up. 

No, I repeated. 

"Afraid, Jon?" he asked. He didn't bother getting up from where he's fallen - jus' made himself more comfortable. "Don't be. I mean it - you _are_ exquisite. Jesus, the two of us together? Nobody could stop us, mate. Fucken nobody." His tongue snaked out over 'is lips. "And we'd be so bloody hot," he said in a low, hoarse voice. 

Oh, how I wanted him. 

I could imagine the feel of leather beneath me fingers, the memory-scent of tobacco an sweat, the heat, the violence. I could imagine Ashbury's husky moans an' obscene words of encouragement. I could imagine the feeling of veins set on fire. 

But when it was done, wot then? Would Ashbury look at me wiv wide eyes and say, "wow"? Cuddle up beside me? Show up fer no reason at obscene hours of the mornin, not fer sex but just ter talk? Bring fucken twinkies! No, I rather thought not. There was no love between us. 

I turned and headed fer the exit, goin' down the stairs as quick as I dared. I stalked across the parkin' lot, head down, and when I heard Ashbury call after me I did not look back. 

After that, everything went pretty much straight to hell. 

I paced backstage prior ter the concert, filled with a nervous energy I couldn't credit ter any one source. I caught sight of Stacey on Ashbury's bassist again an I wanted desperately ter take her aside an talk to 'er. But, no. Finally I was told ter get me arse onstage, which I did with a great sense of relief. 

The set went well - it was probably the best performance of me life. I don't think I've ever poured so much of my self inter me music before, an' I doubt I ever will again. It was like bleedin' out there on stage, cuttin' meself ter the core and then going even deeper. I kept my eyes closed fer most of it because I didn't want ter see anyone, let alone feel them. I closed off the input circuits and just… bled. 

I can wait a long, long time before I hear another lovesong... 

The audience was stunned after I finished, breakin' into applause only after I'd stumbled blindly offstage. Me, I sat down on a set of stairs besides a pile of wires and shite an' just stared at the floor. Eventually, I heard Ashbury take the stage. He sounded pissed off. 

_Good,_ I thought. 

I felt a hand on me shoulder about halfway through Ashbury's third song. "Jono?" 

I turned. It was Paige. 

Hi, sunshine, I said. I moved so she could sit beside me, which she did. 

"Jono," she said, and sighed. "Something's not right with you." 

I nodded. Several things. But I'm workin' on a few of em, anyway. I ran a hand through my hair. Paige, we need ter talk later. About Ashbury an' how his powers work. I haven't told you all I-- I stopped. 

Something was wrong. 

"Jono?" 

Shhh! 

I groped blindly with me mind an' I got it straight away - it was the Group Mind. It, like Ashbury, was pissed off. 

Deeply. 

Paige, I said. The crowd--! 

She was up an on 'er feet right quick, runnin' over ter the stage exit so she could peer out an see wot was goin' on. I stumbled forward, headin right fer the curtain, a sickening sense of dread seepin' through me. 

The crowd was a fucken mob. Wot 'ad probably started as a mosh pit was now a giant, pulsating knot of kids punchin' and kicken' and screamin' at each other. A few who hadn't been sucked inter the Group Mind were tryin' ter back away, but they were bein' attacked by those of the kids who were lost in a haze of violence. 

Dimly, I heard Paige yell fer Stacey. My attention was focused on Ashbury, who was yellin' inter the mike. He turned away form the crowd fer a second, saw me, an' grinned. 

You bastard! I ran at im, hopin' that if I could stop the performance the Group Mind would start ter dispel. He was ready for me - he grabbed the mic stand an' threw it at me. I got tangled an fell ter the ground, cursing heavily. Ashbury bolted backstage while the rest of the band fell on me, doin' a pretty fair job of beatin the shite out of me before I blasted a few of em. I didn't want ter do that much, though, as me psionics seemed ter just intensify the amorphous cloud of anger hangin' over the crowd. Thankfully Paige showed up, husked inter some sort of metal, an proceeded ter subdue the band. 

I got up and ran backstage, determined ter find Ashbury. 

It wasn't hard, as he'd gone straight fer the rear exit. I caught up ter him in the parking lot out back. He was winded - rock stars, unlike super villains, aren't used ter dashin madly fer their lives. 

Ashbury! I called, an he straightened up. 

"What's the matter, Jon?" he asked. "Thought you hated low-genes." 

I shook my head. Is this because of me? Wot's wrong, not used ter rejection? 

Ashbury laughed. "'Rejection' my arse." He grinned at me, slowly and sensually. "You wanted it. You wanted it so bad I'm surprised you didn't bust your fly open in anticipation." 

I advanced on him. Yeah, I said softly. But that's just sex, Ashbury. S'funny you haven't noticed wiv all yer manipulating, but there's more ter people than lust. More than despair. More than hate. I was close ter him now - if I'd had a mouth, I would've called it kissin' distance. As it was, it was more like the danger zone. 

I could have 'ad you. But I'd rather 'ave more. 

Ashbury laughed again. "You'll never have more," he said. 

I have a Jewish accountant, I snarled. An' he's more than you'll EVER be ter me. 

I decked him. Hard. And he went out like a light. 

Tosser, I said ter his prone body. And that's when I heard the shout behind me. I'd barely turned when a bundle in a Hawaiian shirt slammed inter me, nearly knockin me over. 

Bobby. 

He stepped back after a second, smiling dopily. "I'm supposed to punch you now," he said. 

Well, don't, I said. Radio Worthington and tell 'im ter get the authorities 'ere. Then kiss me. Anywhere. Anyhow. 

Bobby grabbed his radio and did as I'd asked. I felt kind of sick, actually, and wondered just wot the fuck I'd just meant by me last request. Kiss? Bleedin' ell, I was spittin' fire everywhere. 

Bobby got off the radio and I struggled ter think of something ter say. But then he was there, holdin me, in ice-form. His lips, cold enough fer me to feel them perfectly, touched my forehead, eyelids, cheek, and behind me ear. That last one elected a more carnal response in me than was probably appropriate so I stepped back. I could feel meself tryin' ter smile. 

"You okay?" he asked. 

Yeah. Now. 

Ashbury was taken care of by some UK mutant police thing. I testified against him, an 'ad to endure a stern lecture from Kurt afterwards on account of me withholding information from the tam. After all, I'd mostly figured out wot Ashbury was doin' and I hadn't told anyone. Kurt made me feel properly ashamed, but not like I was a total failure. I knew he forgave me, an' that was enough. 

Paige an' Jubilee decided ter stick around fer a while at the mansion. Seeing Paige is a bit weird, and I must say that her taste in men seems ter 'ave gone straight ter hell as I heard she went out fer dinner with Wirthington, but.. it's nice ter have em aound, all the same. 

I realized I'm no longer cut out fer the fabulous life of a rock star, if indeed I ever was. Wot I do now may not be conventional, an' it may not be very glorious, but at least I feel like I'm out there helping _some_one. 

Although... 

The other night Bobby dropped by. With twinkies. We talked a bit, an then he just sat there on the bed, chewin thoughtfully, as I played a bit on the guitar. 

I know, it's only rock and roll... but I like it. I like it. 


End file.
